A Blue Christmas
by Jazzcat
Summary: Everything changed when Violar died. Time split in two. Another dimension was created - and only the Narnian centaur and a winged mutant fell into the crack in time. Then, ten months later, Christmas came... and fate brought them back together.
1. Time, Fractured

The end was near.

Flames engulfed the decrepit house at the end of a run-down street. Burning it down almost seemed a mercy. Smoke billowed out the broken windows, and neighbors clustered in their yards while they waited for the distant wailing sirens to materialize as firetrucks.

Two people were trapped inside the house on the top floor. One was a mutant who had been feared and hated by humans and mutants alike. His final hours would not have been cause for many tears. His death would not be mourned - or even acknowledged, save by those in select circles who would quietly celebrate his demise.

The other was a young centaur from another world.

She lay on the sooty carpet, her eyes closed and her face serene. She had embraced her destiny. The thick wall of smoke loomed over her, ready to engulf her charred body.

She softly exhaled her last breath.

She never heard the violent crash through the window.

"Violar!" The shout was interrupted by furious coughing. A man jumped down from the windowsill, flattening his wings to keep his white feathers from being singed. "Violar, can you hear me? Where are you?"

He swore under his breath and waved aside the smoke obscuring his vision. His boot toe caught on something and he tripped, then looked back to see what had caused him to stumble.

A feminine hand rested limp on the floor.

"Violar! Oh God..."

He scooped her into his arms as a rush of heat blasted his skin. Flames gathered around him. The mutant turned and jumped out the window just as the house exploded.

"Hold on," he gasped, flying out of the fireball with desperate speed. Holding Violar close, he hurtled into the blue sky. Ignoring cries of shock and delight from the onlookers below, he banked left and flew toward the first high building in sight: An abandoned warehouse.

He alighted seconds later, coughing. He laid the girl on the rooftop, gently but hastily, and touched her neck. He couldn't find a pulse.

"Don't die, Violar," he growled, giving her a shake. "Don't you _dare_ die on me!"

She didn't respond.

Leaping to his feet, he searched frantically over the rooftop. His gaze fell on a discarded amber bottle.

"Hold on," he ordered through gritted teeth, snatching the bottle. He slammed it against the roof and broke it, then bounded back to her side, already raking the jagged glass down his forearm. Blood coursed from the deep gashes, and he clenched his fist and held his arm over the girl.

"Come on, Violar. Come on. I wasn't too late. I got here as fast as I could..."

Tiny streams of blood fell onto her neck, her chest, her stomach... but it wasn't enough. With a snarl of frustration, he rammed the glass into his other forearm. His face tightened into a scowl of agony.

"Come back," he pleaded hoarsely. "I'm not too late. I came as fast as I could." In desperation, he slashed her shoulder and pressed his bleeding forearm against it, praying that his wounds wouldn't heal before hers. "I've done this before," he tried to assure her. "It worked before. It'll work again. It has to. Come _on_, Violar," he gasped, panting with raw emotion. "It's healing blood. You have to come back. Come _on_!"

He choked her name over and over, slicing into his skin again and again, covering her with his blood. He could feel the labored beating of his heart, and his scorched lungs constricted. Suddenly he threw the bottle aside with a wretched cry and collapsed over her, grinding his forehead into the rough gravel on the rooftop. Ragged sobs shook his muscular body, and his wings spread over her, sheltering her from the sunlight.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... God, Violar, I'm sorry..."

With a guttural moan, Angel pulled himself away from her and crawled to the ledge, staring bleakly at the pavement below. If he'd thought for one moment that his wings would have ceased to operate on instinct and his healing blood might fail him, just this once, he'd have thrown himself from the roof right then. But bitter experience had taught him otherwise. There would be no escape - not for him.

He dragged his legs over the edge and sat there, his face buried in his hands. Harsh sobs racked his weary body. He could feel his wounds beginning to heal, his depleted blood supply starting to replenish itself - and he loathed himself for it. What right did he have to heal when he couldn't bring one of his own friends back to life?

In that moment, time shattered. A faint explosion shook the air around him. Caught in the throes of his own grief, he never noticed. He cursed himself, berated himself for not flying faster... just a little faster...

Her eyes fluttered open. And everything changed.


	2. Fading Memories

I awoke in my own room at Xavier's. Every scar from the fire had melted away, leaving gashes in my heart that would never heal. I had a fuzzy recollection of demanding to know why Angel had saved me, of telling him that he'd had no right to play God with my life. The memory of his stricken face seared my conscience. Regret tore at me for what I'd done to Angel, and I cried over the damage I'd inflicted on him.

I couldn't face him after that. Word came back to me that Angel had left the mansion and hadn't been seen since he'd brought me there.

I cried for St. John. I cried for all the inner deaths I'd died to walk him home, and I cried because I hadn't been there for him at the very end. I cried until I had no tears left to cry, and then I sank into a numb oblivion.

Time ceased to matter. Days ran together like streams of rain down my window. The world faded to gray. The lines between life and death blurred. Friends forced me to eat, but I could barely choke down enough food to keep up my strength. It was a painful effort just to breathe.

There was little difference between sleeping and waking. Nightmares plagued me by night. By day, I wandered. I arrived at strange destinations with no memory of how I'd gotten there... or why I'd come. I lived like a shadow - a ghost.

And then I began to run.

I galloped away from the mansion - away from the people who cared about me. I crossed into Narnia, seeking escape from the agony. I found none. But I kept trying, pursued by demons who followed me into my native country. I searched high and low for an oasis in the forests, the plains - even the Calormene desert. Then I came back to New York and blazed trails deep into the cold mountains and the winter-bare forests.

Everywhere I went, blue eyes haunted me.

I stayed away from the other mutants. Kurt Wagner, my best friend, had returned from a trip to Bavaria with Tessa Niles. I avoided them, not wanting to disturb their budding relationship. Logan Howlett, also known as Wolverine, offered me beer instead of my usual SOBE when he realized what a mess I'd become. He claimed it would numb the pain. It only made me sick and gave me a headache the next morning; it did nothing to repair the rifts in time or the rents in my life. Professor Charles Xavier went to Paris; he had concerns about his health. Rogue tried her Southern hospitality on me, offering to take me out for pizza - a dish she knew I loved. I turned her down.

Scott Summers had his hands full while assuming leadership of the X-Men in Xavier's absence. Jean Gray asked to read my mind, but I wouldn't have shared that powerful grief with anyone... and I certainly didn't want her finding out about my feelings towards Angel. Jean struck me as the kind of woman who didn't guard secrets as closely as I did. And I wasn't terribly keen on the idea of someone else invading my mind or living my memories. Even if she had seen my life through my eyes, she couldn't have understood the depths of my suffering... nor could she have done anything to help me.

I refused to banish anyone to the sidelines of a nightmare, as I had been rendered helpless during St. John's illness.

Remy LeBeau, an outsider mutant who was still affiliated with the X-Men, could have been tracked down. He was tough to find, but not impossible. Having been a drifter myself once, I knew where lost souls tended to hide. Yet I never sought him out. We'd made an excellent team, both as pranksters and battling against anti-mutant agents, but no teamwork could vanquish my inner foes.

Rumors traveled fast at Xavier's, and I knew when Angel returned. Overcome with remorse and shame, I turned tail and fled. I stayed in the forest for days, living off whatever meat my trusty arrows brought down. Occasionally I returned to the mansion, only to leave again. My trips grew longer, stretching on for weeks at a time. I journeyed into Narnia, crossed into other worlds, and came back. I no longer knew where I went. I no longer cared. I wanted to leave Xavier's and all its painful memories behind.

As they say in New York, watch what you wish for.

I had glimpsed the strange and magical lands of Camelot, stopped in 14th-century France to witness the coronation of good King Louis XIV's son, fought pirates alongside Kurt and Tessa in Bavaria, and helped my fellow Narnians quell an uprising of the White Witch's remaining minions along the Ettinsmoor border. Then I set hoof in New York and found the mansion in ruins.

I stared at the blackened rubble in disbelief. The dust of many years had already blown over the stones. Vines ran wild and earth sought to reclaim lost territory.

What had happened? Xavier's Institute for the Gifted was no more!

Terrified, I whirled and galloped back to the threshold of Narnia. I stepped through the invisible porthole and took a deep breath... of New York air.

Filled with a horrible sense of foreboding, I tried again. And again. And again. Nothing. I was trapped in a future that didn't belong to me.

By nightfall, I came back to the mansion ruins and sat down to watch over the place. Once the magic of silver moonlight had enchanted the Institute, but now it looked eerie and desolate - like a cemetery. The large courtyard fountain, once cheery and bubbling, was now dry and split into five pieces. The Professor's garden, once so neatly tended and budding with life, was overrun with weeds and dead plants.

Worst of all, my memories began to fade. I felt them draining away from me, as if some powerful force were drawing them straight out of my soul.

Occasionally I wandered. I tried to pass through the threshold to Narnia without luck. But I kept trying until one day I stepped through a porthole into the middle of strange trees. Overcome with cautious wonder, I set off to find out where I'd ended up - and walked right into a gathering of the fiercest-looking black apes I'd ever seen.

I spun around as a stampede of black beasts chased me through the dense forest, and suddenly I found myself back in New York. I raced back to the mansion, my heart pounding with desperate hope. Had I returned to my own time?

But the pile of stones remained just the way I'd left it.

Portholes cropped up in the middle of my travels without warning, without rhyme or reason. I no longer knew when I would cross into a foreign dimension. I had no control over it. My sapphire choker threw me from one universe to another. I grew to hate it so much that I only wandered when necessity forced me to venture from my familiar paths.

No matter where I went, the New York I returned to was this foreign wasteland of broken dreams.

For days I hovered around the mansion's fallen stones, mourning the loss of my second family. Then, when watery sunshine broke through one rainy afternoon, a golden tuft of artificial fur trapped in a pile of bricks caught my eye. There was something familiar about it, but I couldn't place it. A chunk of memory was missing, leaving behind just enough residue for me to trace the empty space in my mind.

Puzzled, I dug through the bricks until I uncovered the bedraggled, moth-eaten body of a stuffed animal. When I stared into its scuffed chocolate eyes, I suddenly saw the lion again - the way he'd looked when I'd first seen him: Held out to me by a smiling Remy LeBeau, a present for our very first prank. After a moment of intense thought, I recalled that Remy and I had played that prank on Kurt Wagner. The lion was supposed to represent Aslan, and Remy had said I could do whatever I wanted with it - keep it or leave it for Kurt.

I'd left it for Kurt.

I burst into tears and hugged the poor creature close, then looked around at the lost civilization I'd once been a part of. I didn't want to remember anything from the past, but suddenly I couldn't bear to lose the memories. They were all I had left.

The X-Men deserved more than to be forgotten by a lone centaur.

I pushed deep into the mountains and discovered an ideal place - a large rocky hill covered with thick vegetation. Using tools I uncovered in the mansion's old greenhouse and a rusted wheelbarrow pilfered from a local junkyard, I carved a hidden archway into the rock. The entrance deepened into a tunnel, then widened into a large chamber. Day after day, I chipped myself a cave - even though centaurs generally despise caves and small, dark spaces. Along the walls of my new dwelling, I etched the names of the mutants I could remember, along with short histories. A tattered portrait hung next to a few paragraphs describing Professor Xavier. A white feather I'd found - which probably came from a swan rather than Angel, since the feather was in fairly good shape - was pressed between two small panes of glass and framed with white birch bark over a long, rambling memorial I'd written for Angel. The stuffed lion sat on a special shelf I'd chiseled between the monuments for Kurt Wagner and Remy LeBeau.

I hunted wild game, fished the rivers, and gathered berries and wild fruit for food. I preserved meat in my underground cellar and stretched animal skins for blankets, rugs, curtains for the doorway, and even coats to keep me warm. What little New York-style clothing I still had with me, I kept carefully in a room I designated as the bedroom - though I never slept there. I preferred to live like a centaur instead of a mutant, which meant sleeping in my palomino form on a rug in my living room. I found an alien spaceship-shaped fireplace stove in the junkyard and set it in the middle of my main room, running pipes through the ceiling for a chimney. It made the place warm and cozy.

Nevertheless, I decorated the empty bedroom with care - though I couldn't have said why. I furnished it with a mattress and dusty blankets, a couple of beat-up end tables, an upright dresser with a missing drawer, and a chipped oval mirror on the wall.

During the nights and long winters, I stayed in my cave and kept busy with sewing projects, carving new rooms and taking out wheelbarrow-loads of loose rock, and writing down everything I could remember on my walls or on stiff sheets of newspaper that I'd washed clean of print.

Yet even as I worked to capture the memories, I dreaded the day when I would look at those walls and see nothing but empty words without faces, without voices.

And that day was coming.


	3. Thankless Thanksgiving

I shot myself a wild turkey for Thanksgiving. It weighed over twenty pounds.

Having nothing better to do, I entertained myself by cooking a traditional Thanksgiving feast — complete with stuffing, mashed potatoes, white cream gravy, cranberry and orange sauce, wheat rolls with butter and honey, and steamed wild vegetables. For dessert, I made a pumpkin pie and garnished it with the last of my whipped cream. I broke out a bottle of sparkling apple cider and sat down to eat.

And eat.

And eat.

While I ate, I tried to think of things to be grateful for. I was grateful, I decided, for the plentiful population of deer and wild turkeys just north of New York City, in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. I'd dug myself a meat cellar and kept it well-stocked. In addition to fresh meat, I kept supplies of flour – much of which I ground myself, painstakingly, between two large stones. I gathered wild blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries. Barrels of apples stayed cold in the underground cellar. From reading history during classes I'd taken at Xavier's, I learned that a man who called himself Johnny Appleseed had planted trees throughout the region long ago. Those trees, and perhaps their descendants, still grew in the wild country. I continued Master Appleseed's tradition and planted my own apple seeds before the ground froze.

I was grateful for the nearby farm that had milk cows, goats, egg-laying hens and — seasonally — fresh vegetables. Once, not long ago, I'd have dared introduce myself to the farmer and asked to work in exchange for food. But the climate had become so unfriendly to mutants that I was afraid of being recognized. Instead, when I stole onto the farm at night and milked the cow and the goat for my cheese, whipped cream, and butter, I brought with me a healthy stock of herbs I'd gathered in the forest. Being a centaur and a Narnian healer, I knew the best diet for the animals. I fed them wild grains and oats, sunflower seeds, fresh dandelions, clover, garlic cloves, and apple cider vinegar — among other things. The animals produced better milk as a result, and the apple cider vinegar deterred flies and internal worms.

Under the cover of darkness, I weeded the gardens and tended the plants in trade for tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, heads of lettuce, carrots, potatoes, and an occasional pumpkin. I pruned the fruit trees in exchange for peaches, plums, apricots and cherries.

Sugar and salt were some of my most precious commodities — because they were difficult to acquire. But I managed to scrape by. Never wanting to be a thief, I always left something valuable to replace what I had to take. I was very pleased when, on one of my frequent trips to a nearby junkyard, I unearthed a ruby and diamond pendant that had obviously been thrown away by accident. I cleaned it up as best I could, scrubbed it with an old toothbrush, and slipped it onto the farmer's doorstep. Then I hid behind a tree to wait and watch when the farmer and his wife came home. Their exclamations of surprise and delight warmed my heart and curved my lips in an unfamiliar smile.

"Our pixie is at it again," I heard the farmer remark to his wife. That was what they called me — their pixie. Because I had done enough work around the place that someone was bound to notice.

I often risked approaching the house and hiding beneath the window at dinnertime, just to hear the sound of voices besides my own. I listened to their stories, so desperate for a moment of pseudo-companionship that it obliterated any shame I felt for eavesdropping.

Their names were Robert and Martha. They had three grown children, two boys and a girl, who lived overseas and wouldn't be coming home for Christmas. It was especially difficult because their daughter, who had married a man in the military, had just given birth to their first grandchild two months before. I pressed a hand to the wall, touched with sympathy for their plight.

"There was a commotion in town today," I heard Robert say. "Please pass the blackberry jam, honey."

The jam jar scraped across the table. "Oh really? There aren't many commotions, what with those awful Sentinels roaming around," answered Martha.

A shudder ran through me. Although I had never seen a Sentinel, all mutants knew of the nightmarish robots. Allegedly three stories tall, Sentinels were created to capture mutants — only resorting to force if a mutant resisted. Each Sentinel was programmed with a database of known mutants; if a Sentinel spotted a mutant, it would take only seconds to recognize a match from that database. The mutant was then apprehended and taken to a special mutant holding facility — and many were never heard from again.

At least, that was the way things were before the world as I knew it changed.

"The Sentinels are a good thing, Martha," Robert assured her. "They rid the city of mutants. We ought to thank Trask for that."

I wondered who Trask was, and I pursed my lips worriedly to hear Robert speak of my race that way. It was good, I decided, that I'd never gotten up the courage to introduce myself.

"If you ask me, we're no safer with Sentinels than mutants," Martha said. "I'm always afraid one of them will step on me and squash me like a bug. Would you pass me a biscuit?"

I heard the breadbasket rustle. "They won't step on a human. They have built-in heat sensors, and they can detect humans through walls — even underground. It's quite an efficient design, really."

"Technology isn't foolproof," Martha reminded him. "What if one of those robots mistakes _me_ for a mutant someday?"

That made Robert laugh. "It might peg you for having extraordinary shopping powers."

Martha giggled. "I'm serious," she told him, but a smile lurked in her voice. "So you said there was some kind of commotion?"

"Yup. Caught a mutant hiding in a back alley. Apparently he was starved, so he must have been hiding from the law for some time—"

A startled gasp wrenched from my throat. I lost my balance and fell against the wall.

"Did you hear that?" Martha sounded frightened.

Chairs scraped against the floor. Panic gripped me, and I scrambled to my feet and made a run for the woods. I heard the window opening behind me, and I dashed behind a pine tree, trembling all over and struggling to even out my rapid breaths.

"Hello?" Robert called into the night. I risked a peek at the house and found him leaning out the open window, holding a shotgun and staring in my direction. I froze, terrified that he'd seen me. Then his gaze moved away. "Is someone out there?"

After a moment, when he saw and heard nothing else, he shrugged and closed the window. "Must have been a creak in this old house," I heard him remark to his wife. "Maybe the roof needs attention. I'll check the shingles tomorrow."

I sagged against the tree. That was too close a call for me. I waited another moment, just to be safe, then shifted into my centaur form. I turned toward my cave, my head full of what I'd heard.

A mutant? There _were_ mutants in this place, still, if a whole batch of Sentinels had been dispatched to deal with them. If Robert was right, one of them had been captured. But who? Where had they taken him?

I climbed past my cave and continued onward to the top of a hill overlooking the lights of New York City. If I'd had even the faintest clue about the location of the alleged holding facility, I'd have risked everything to enter the city and try to rescue him.

But had I ventured on a foolhardy mission without that knowledge, I'd only have succeeded in getting myself captured. I would have to wait, and resume my excuse of a life, and pray to Aslan for an opportunity to help the mutant community.

When the snows came, I had to be careful not to leave footprints — or hoofprints — at my adopted farm. By then, I had enough food stored away to keep me fed through the winter months, provided that I continued to hunt deer and turkey — and supplement my diet with fish pulled from icy rivers and frozen lakes.

With a tattered calendar I'd rescued from the junkyard, I discovered exactly when Christmas was coming — thanks to the moon phase notations in the date squares. People threw away a lot of old Christmas decorations, and I carefully collected them and stored them in my cave.

Although I dreaded spending the special holiday alone, I chose to observe Christmas regardless. With Christmas only a few weeks away, it was time to decorate.

Candle stubs of various sizes and colors went into stone sconces I chipped into the rock walls. Raggedy garlands made of glittery material draped over the monuments I'd made to my lost friends, pinned with sprays of fresh holly and pine I'd gathered from the woods. Faded ribbons of red, burgundy, and dusty pink adorned the pine and holly wreaths I made, garnished with white birch twigs, pine cones, feathers, and red and white berries. Three rusty deer figures, all wrapped with little white lights (which I couldn't use due to lack of electricity in my cave, assuming the lights still worked), stood against one wall. Chunks of pink granite, white quartz, black obsidian, and smooth agates formed magnificent candleholders on the center of my battered excuse for a dining room table — which I'd also dragged out of the junkyard.

More pinecones that I'd brushed with leftover gold fingernail polish sat in clusters on my two bookcases, where I kept what few treasured books I owned. One such volume was called _Robinson __Crusoe _by Daniel Defoe. Although Defoe's hero had been shipwrecked and stranded on an island, not abandoned by time and left to fend for himself in wooded mountains, I identified strongly with him. In fact, it was Crusoe's ingenuity that prompted me to dry much of my fruit and hang grapes in the sun until they turned into raisins.

I chopped down a young fir tree and brought it into my cave, securing it in an old pottery vase filled with large rocks to hold it in place. I gave it snowmelt water to drink, strung it with shiny garlands, hung it with apples and glittery pinecones, and topped it with a crude five-point star I'd carved from oak and polished with a bit of sandpaper. The tree was old-fashioned and strangely charming when I'd finished it.

As I looked around, my heart ached. All the decorations should have been beautiful, but instead, they reminded me of my lost friends. Then I straightened my shoulders and made a firm resolve that my Christmas celebration would not be a painful struggle — not the way my Thanksgiving had been. Christmas wasn't meant to be a lonely occasion for tears, but a time of laughter and generous giving and warm companionship.

Then I had an idea. I would throw a party for Christmas and invite all my old friends.


	4. Ghosts of Christmases Past

Filled with determined enthusiasm, I headed for the junkyard. I packed a pile of mismatched dishes — more than half of them chipped and cracked — into my old wheelbarrow. Odd, special items I found were presents for the guests. Rough cloth in varying shades of red and green would make placemats and napkins. Silverware and two bronze light fixtures topped off my load, along with a small gold deer statue that had only three legs.

I took them home, secured the deerskins over my makeshift door, and set the table. A dozen place settings were accompanied by folded cloth napkins and miscellaneous silverware. I secured candles into both ornate light fixtures and hung them over each end of the table, turning my simple cave into a grand dining room. The gold deer put the finishing touch on what had transformed into an elegant table centerpiece of stones and candles.

Then it was time to cook.

My Christmas turkey was a little leaner than my Thanksgiving bird, but it still weighed close to twenty pounds. For the next several hours, I fixed an accompaniment of mashed potatoes, brown gravy, stuffing, three varieties of zucchini sautéed in butter, four small loaves of bread, a traditional Narnian plum pudding, and a mixture of raisins, dried cranberries, and dried blueberries. For dessert, I whipped up two blackberry pies and an apple crumble.

On Christmas night, I struck a match to a long candle and used it to light up every candle in the cave. I threw a few more logs than usual into the alien spaceship-shaped stove in the middle of the main room. Golden firelight danced over the cozy scene as I served each plate with helpings from every dish, poured sparkling cider into a collection of glasses, and stood back to admire the feast. Every detail was perfect.

I dressed my very best for the occasion, donning a cream-colored silk blouse with long sleeves and a woolen burgundy skirt. I wrapped a black silk scarf with bright poinsettias around my neck and fixed my hair in a French braid with my silver butterfly clip. I wrapped eleven presents in brown paper and tied each with slender rope, and I arranged them beneath the tree.

Then I moved to the door to wait.

I didn't have to wait long before I drew aside the deerskin and smiled.

"Good evening, Professor," I greeted cordially, ushering him into the cave. "Please, make yourself at home. I'm so glad you could make it. May I take your coat?"

I turned away to hang the imaginary coat on a jutting wall shelf, continuing my one-sided conversation. "It wouldn't be quite Christmas without you here, Professor. Forgive me for the lack of chairs and sofas in this place — centaurs don't need to sit down, you see. I hope you don't mind standing for dinner, just this once. Will anyone else be coming? Oh, pardon me, someone's at the door now."

I pulled aside the deerskin again and smiled. "Hello, Logan! Come in, come in. Merry Christmas to you too! Just do me one favor and keep the claws sheathed tonight." Suddenly I giggled. "Don't growl at me. If you must, make yourself useful and carve up the turkey. I'll be with you in a minute — it seems more guests have arrived."

This time, I held out my hand. "Kurt Wagner, Tessa Niles, I am happier than I can say that you've decided to join me tonight. I've missed you both terribly. If you like, you can teleport straight in next to the stove to avoid tracking snow on the floor, and you can warm up by the fire. Would either of you like hot apple cider?"

I turned and surveyed the room, feeling achingly warm inside as I observed Logan slicing turkey, Kurt and Tessa drinking cider by the fire, and Professor Xavier examining my modest collection of books. Then I whirled to let in another familiar face.

"Scott Summers." I smiled at him. "Merry Christmas. Can you see through the ruby sunglasses? I tried to brighten the place up enough, but if you have trouble seeing your way around, don't hesitate to let me know. I might be able to scrounge up another candle or two. Oh, and stay away from Logan. As you can see, I've gone to great lengths to decorate this place, and I won't have you two chasing each other like dogs and cats and toppling my tree."

I poked my head out the doorway. "Rogue! Come give a centaur a hug — just keep your gloves on, else you'll sprout palomino fur and a tail. That'd be a bit more than you wanted for Christmas, right? I didn't make any pizzas, I'm afraid. I'm short on pizza toppings just now. But hopefully you can find something tasty in here, regardless."

I grinned at the snow-covered landscape. "Ororo Monroe, before you come in, will you do me a favor and work a little Christmas magic for us? Or are you going to make me sing a few verses of 'Let It Snow' first?"

I gasped when, as if Storm were truly there, snowflakes began to drift out of the misty white sky. I swallowed hard.

"Thank you," I murmured into the night. "Come in, Storm. You may never cease to amaze me."

When I turned back to the doorway, I found two old friends standing there.

"Jean Grey, Dr. McCoy," I said, stepping aside. "I heard you've been working on some kind of top secret project lately? Thank you for taking a break from the lab to attend my humble Christmas party. I'll feed you both very well for the sacrifice. Trust me, there's plenty for everyone — and wait until you see what I made for dessert. Oh, and Jean," I added, giving her a sharp look, "don't start anything with either Scott or Logan. If you look around, you'll notice a glaring lack of mistletoe. Take that as a pointed hint."

I greeted my tenth guest with a warm smile and outstretched hands.

"Remy LeBeau," I breathed. "I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you're here. As I warned you beforehand, there are a lot of folks here whom you haven't seen in a long time — even people you've deliberately avoided for years. But tonight, we're family. And my family would be incomplete without you." I reached for him and gently drew him inside. "Just having you here is enough of a Christmas gift for me. Thank you so much, Remy. As you make yourself at home, have a look at that shelf there." I nodded at the stuffed lion reposing on a small rocky outcropping — a lion that represented Aslan; a gift from Remy himself long ago. "There sits another old friend who will be happy to see you."

I had twelve places set. Ten mutants populated my cave, filling it with Christmas cheer. I was number eleven. One place remained empty.

I pulled the deerskin aside and stared into the snowy night. Nothing.

I swallowed a bitter lump of disappointment. He wasn't coming. Even now, now that all I had left were memories and imagination, he wouldn't come.

I pursed my lips and turned away, then stopped short to avoid bumping into one of my guests. "No, Kurt, I'm fine. I just..." I sighed. "I invited one more person, but I hurt him so badly last winter that he may never forgive me. After what I did, an apology would never suffice, anyway. I don't blame him for not being here. I thought I might take a chance for Christmas, but..."

I whirled and caught my breath, finishing shakily. "But... I was... beginning to think... that you'd never come." A sheen of tears gathered in my eyes, and my jaw trembled. "Hello, Angel."

Suddenly shy and overwhelmed with emotion, I moved aside to allow my final guest to pass. Then I closed the deerskin door with extra care before I had to turn and face him. "Merry Christmas to you, Angel. Please..." I gestured toward the table. "Can I get you anything? Anything at all?"

Angel would have politely declined, I knew. He was a gentleman through and through. I ventured a smile at him, then took my place at the head of the table.

"Dinner is served," I announced to my company. "I would ask you to be seated, only that'd be terribly awkward, owing to the lack of chairs in a centaur's abode. Shall we gather and say grace?"

I paused for a suitable moment as my old friends situated themselves. Scott Summers, Logan Howlett and Jean Grey were strategically placed away from each other — like three points of a triangle, with Logan and Scott on the same side of the table to prevent them from glaring daggers at each other. Professor Xavier and Remy LeBeau were also distanced to lessen any unpleasant tension. Angel chose the opposite end of the table across from me — likely to avoid bumping people with his eight-foot wings. I touched my choker and stood before them in my centaur form.

"Dear Aslan, thank you for this night," I prayed fervently. "Thank you for giving us the greatest gift of all when you sent your Son to save this world. Thank you for sacrificing yourself on the Stone Table to save my world — to free Narnia from a terrible curse. Thank you for giving us the beautiful celebration of Christmas, when you pour your grace anew on all peoples in all worlds, wherever they may be. And thank you for bringing old friends back together for a special moment, and we look forward to the day when the promise of Christmas is fulfilled: The day when we might be reunited forever with you in Your Country — never to be separated again."

After praying for a blessing over the food, I lifted my glass of sparkling cider in a solemn toast.

"Here's to all of you — my best friends in any world, and the best friends any centaur could ever ask for. You were all such a gift to me — each in your own unique way. I wish all of you peace, happiness, and love."

I sipped from my glass, then stepped to my right and picked up the next glass.

"To you, Professor Charles Xavier, for being the great leader you were. You offered guidance to so many, a home to so many more, and built a place where an unlikely family could prosper. You worked so hard to establish peace between two different worlds who lived on the same planet." I sighed. "It is a dark hour, and your dream has gone dormant. But as long as I am here, that dream lives on — in some manner. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

I drank the cider, then continued to the next place.

"Rogue," I said, beginning to smile. "You're an amazing woman. You taught me, by your own example, to live life to the fullest — regardless of circumstances, regardless of the burdens we carry. There are always, always burdens to carry. But you found silver linings. You were a cheerful companion who brightened the days of those lucky enough to live around you. For everything you gave me, thank you so much."

I drank from that glass, paused a moment to shore up my emotions, and picked up the third cup.

"Kurt Wagner, you were like a brother to me — a wonderful, playful, protective blue brother. I found such a warm welcome at Xavier's, and you were one of the first who flung open its gates to me and embraced me with such enthusiasm. In no time at all, I felt like I belonged. It was all because of you. Almost immediately, you were my best friend. And I'd never had a best friend before. You played such wonderful pranks on me — painting me like a centaur zebra with black frosting, taking my form of revenge with excellent humor, and then teaming up with me to play pranks on other people."

I smiled in Angel's direction, remembering the day Kurt and I had gone into Angel's apartment and left chocolate goodies and an extra-large T-shirt that proclaimed, "I beat anorexia!" as a means of telling him that he needed to eat more. It was payback for a comment Angel had made about Kurt getting a little pudgy, which prompted Kurt to retort, "Nonsense. It's all fur and muscle." I found myself chuckling, remembering the day Kurt and I had gone into the courtyard and imagined the future of X-Men who ate too many gummy worms — a special branch called the Tubby X-Men with Kurt, Angel, and myself included. The discussion had left us in fits of hysterical laughter.

"No matter what we were doing — fighting pirates in Bavaria, visiting gypsies and telling stories around their campfires, playing pranks on the other mutants, battling it out in the Danger Room, just sharing thoughts and feelings and memories from both recent and distant pasts... You amaze me, Kurt Wagner. Your heart is so beautiful. I love you dearly, and I always will. I miss you..."

I bit my lip, then hastily saluted him with my glass and drained it. When I set it aside, I continued to the next glass.

"Tessa Niles," I began as the muscles in my face softened. "You gave me my first car ride — a hair-raising experience that, I assure you, I will never forget. Every time I break into a gallop and feel the wind in my hair, I remember. You also fed me every kind of chocolate in the local grocery market, for which I will be forever grateful — believe me! But more than that," I went on seriously, "you took me in and treated me like... like a daughter. You calmed me with your firm logic and gentle touch. You caused me to miss my mother less, and because of that, I miss you more."

I took a sip of cider. Next came Jean Grey.

"Ah, Jean. You were the one who told me that I was a mutant — a day that changed my life in a truly positive way. From that moment on, the mutants were more than friends to me: They became family. I will treasure that moment forever, because not even time and space can take this family away from me. You gave that family to me, and you gave me your friendship — especially during the black days when St. John suffered through his terminal illness. My life fell apart after that, piece by piece. But that does not lessen the gratitude I felt, and feel, towards you for what you've done for me. Thank you, so much."

After that toast, I moved to the place I was most nervous about. I reached for Angel's glass with trepidation.

"Angel," I murmured, hoping no one would notice how my voice shook. Drawing a breath, I plunged in. "You saved my life only moments after my arrival in New York, then directed me here — to this wonderful group of people who mean so much to me. Then, little by little, you allowed me into your life... even into your heart. You shared things..." I glanced warily around the table. "Things you never shared with anyone else. And we flew," I said with a sudden smile. "We flew so high over the city, and all the world was right in that moment. How beautiful... how beautiful the world was then, with a tangerine twilight invading the jagged New York skyline. It was a moment that poets only dream of. It was one of the finest moments of my life."

Turning to look into the blue eyes I remembered so well — the blue eyes that pierced my waking thoughts and my dreams alike — I held the cup between us.

"You hold a very special place in my heart. You were... you _are_ everything to me. Here's to you — wherever you are. I hope you found the freedom you were looking for."

Slowly, I drank the cider, savoring it. Then I continued around the table.

"Remy LeBeau." It was impossible to keep from smiling. "You were such a special friend. We had so much in common — drifters, outcasts, and pranksters. Your smile could light up a town, and I find it impossible not to forgive you for... for everything." I choked back a giggle, shaking my head. "You're too much, Remy. You positively reeked of charm and wit. I wish I'd known you better. We didn't get to spend nearly enough time together. That was my fault... I didn't seek you out enough in those days. I can't tell you how much I regret that."

With a frown, I swirled the cider. "I wish I could go back in time and change that. There was so much to do, so much to say... like fragments of an unwritten story. Yet the good times we spent together caused me to feel that way. So thank you, Remy. Thank you... for all of it."

I drank the cider down to the last drop and smiled again.

"Dr. Hank McCoy, it's impossible not to feel a kinship with someone else gifted with a lot of fur! And when it comes to fur, there is nothing in the world better than _blue_ fur." Sending Kurt a conspiratorial grin, I picked up Beast's glass. "It was such an honor to know you, Dr. McCoy. You were made up of gentleness, intelligence, kindness and wisdom. You were a credit to us all. No wonder you were chosen to be a liaison between humans and mutants. No wonder at all."

With a mild salute, I sipped from the glass and set it aside.

"Scott Summers, you are a young leader with great promise. I see why Professor Xavier chose you to follow in his footsteps and lead the mutants in his absence, when he left for France without knowing if — or when — he would return. Someday you will be our new leader, and we will flourish in your care. Trust that you will have everything you need at the moment you need it. Answers will come when you ask the questions. You were trained by the best," I nodded toward the Professor, "and that training will not fail you. At least, it wouldn't have," I amended, switching regretfully to past tense. "I'm sure you made a wonderful leader, and I'm sorry I wasn't around to see that glorious day. Here's to you, old friend."

After I finished my toast with a swallow of cider, I moved to the next place.

"Ororo Monroe, you have done too many great things for all of us to mention. I have watched you use your powers to raise storms in the heavens, and I have seen you use your powers to calm storms below. Sometimes you have to create one storm to calm another." I smiled and lifted her glass. "You had such nobility about you, Storm — such poise. You were a born leader. You also welcomed me to Xavier's and helped me through the most difficult period of my life. Among the many things I could thank you for, let me express my gratitude for giving us snow tonight — for Christmas."

I drank to that. Then I moved to the final setting on the table with a wistful smile.

"Logan Howlett," I said, running two fingers along the cup's rim. "You are a warrior in the truest sense. I know what it is to be a warrior." I looked directly into his eyes. "But I am not the same kind of warrior you are. You are dedicated to fighting for what you believe is right. You bear the scars of battles past, and you bear the scars of those who manipulated you into battles that were not supposed to be your own. But you know, as well as I do, that you were fighting because — at the time — you believed it was _the__ right __thing__ to__ do_. I admire you greatly for that, Logan."

I lowered my gaze, forcing away fresh regret that these eleven special people were not truly with me here tonight. At that moment, I needed them to be here. And that fierce desire brought them here — in spirit, if not in body.

"A noble knight once offered me a priceless piece of wisdom: Every time you draw your sword, you should not consider what you are killing, but what you are allowing to live. A mighty king once told me that there is a peace that can only be found on the other side of war. I live by these words, but you personify them. I have molded myself to these principles, but you were born with these truths embedded in your soul. It is an act of will for me to take up my sword, but your weapons are literally a part of you. There is a powerful difference.

"We need you," I went on, looking up at him again. "Xavier's needs you more than we can tell you. Your will to protect us, to fight for what's right — and to refuse to fight when you believe it's wrong to fight — is an invaluable asset." A knot suddenly lodged in my throat. "Is that what happened, Logan? Did someone drive you away? Because without you at Xavier's, evil could have prevailed. We needed you... we desperately needed you. Someone didn't make you leave, did they? Is that why… why Xavier's fell?"

Clamping a hand over my nose, I turned away. Not now, I told myself. Now was not the time to mourn. Tonight was about celebrating friendships and remembering the good times, not agonizing over the things that had been lost — which is what I had spent the last few months doing. Drawing shaky breaths, I forcibly calmed the sobs that would have otherwise overwhelmed me. The pain in my chest slowly dissipated.

"So," I said, picking up his glass with a trembling salute. "To thank you for these things is too small a gesture. Nevertheless, it is all I have to give. Thank you, Logan."

I brought the glass to my lips and drank it dry. Then I returned to the head of the table, smiling at my invisible companions through the threat of tears.

"Thank you all for everything," I said softly. "Thank you for many happy years and precious memories. I love all of you... so much. I miss you... more than I can say. But I hold each and every one of you close in my heart. And I hope that the memories never fade... and if I still remember by next Christmas, we shall meet again, just like this, to celebrate life... what was and whatever is to come, if indeed there is anything left to celebrate. But celebrating the past is better than not celebrating at all."

My smile came more easily. "And now, let's eat before this dinner gets cold." I poked a slab of turkey with a forefinger, then laughed chokily. "Any colder," I amended. "Though I doubt it could get much colder than this, unless the plates were sitting in the snow at this very moment. Bon appetit, my friends."

With that, I systematically finished off twelve plates of food and whatever cider remained after all the toasting. I carried on conversations with each mutant, remembering their unique styles of humor and laughing at the jokes they'd told. I served dessert to much fanfare and gave Jean Grey the recipe for my apple crumble.

When I finished, I trotted away from the table and picked up the eleven packages. And I opened them, one by one.

I gave the Professor a chess set I'd found in the junkyard. One of the black rooks and two of the white pawns were missing. Still, I felt he would have appreciated it. To Logan, I gave a ship in a bottle. I'd found the ship in a broken bottle — which is probably why it had been thrown out in the first place — then found a large bottle that was completely intact and painstakingly relocated the ship. Scott received an old brown cowboy hat with turquoise beads around the hatband. Dr. McCoy would have been interested in the box of over eighty scientific magazines that someone had discarded, I was sure. The magazines weren't very old, which meant that the information they contained was still current. And they were in good condition.

For Storm, I had a snow globe with a pure white unicorn inside. I found a hairclip for Jean — a feathered butterfly with fiery yellow, orange, and red wings. Rogue was the new owner of an elbow-length pair of white kid gloves. They had coffee-colored stains on the forearms, but I encouraged Rogue to let her artistic side show and to dye the gloves in a variety of interesting colors. I could just hear her merry laughter as she drawled out in her Southern Belle accent, "Why thanks, Vi."

I gave Kurt a silver and bronze rosary that had seen better days. Then again, the wooden rosary Kurt used to keep with him had seen better days, too. Kurt valued items that were sentimental for one reason or another. The silver rosary's ornate crucifix had beautiful curves and detailing that reminded me of Celtic art, and I felt sure he'd have loved it.

I gave Tessa a miniature carousel that no longer worked. But with her technical mind and computer-oriented mutation, I knew it'd only have been a matter of time before Tessa had the little horses dancing to whatever music the carousel contained.

I'd been lucky enough to run across a dark brown trenchcoat that had Remy LeBeau's name written all over it. I patched and mended it in a few places, and the look seemed to fit Remy's hobo lifestyle. Included in Remy's package were three packs of playing cards, each with missing cards — unfortunately. The first was missing a two of diamonds, the second an eight of clubs, and the third a five of hearts. But while Remy needed cards to play — and win — with, he also needed cards to throw like deadly pink grenades. These three decks would have fit the latter bill. Besides, each deck had an Ace of Spades. I knew the Ace of Spades had been Remy's signature card — or at least one of his signature cards.

Lastly, I gave Angel a bronze figurine of a winged angelic messenger. It was about a foot tall. The figurine was male with long, flowing wings and a stern, dignified demeanor: He could have been an angel of doom, perhaps, only I imagined that angels of doom looked more terrible. This angel seemed to be delivering a warning as he pointed one forefinger toward heaven.

It was strangely fitting.

With the gifts given, we mingled for awhile. Then I escorted my guests out the door amongst well-wishes and shouts of, "Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!"

The ghosts of Christmases past disappeared into the night. Then I was alone in the cave once more. With a sigh, I let the deerskin fall from my hand and reluctantly turned to face my empty cave, afraid that the loneliness would be too much to bear. But when I looked around at all the tawdry decorations, I had to smile. A little of the evening's magic still remained.

I stood near the fireplace stove, keeping warm as the candles sputtered and flickered out one by one. When the last candle had gone dark, I pulled on the trench coat I'd given Remy and left.

I wandered through the tall drifts of snow that came up to my knees, weaving through the leaf-bare forest and climbing one of the tall mountain foothills. I drew the coat closer and ducked my head against the feathery snowflakes that stayed on my nose and eyelashes, forging onward until I reached the summit.

There, I paused and looked around. Through a delicate haze of falling snow, distant city lights gleamed faintly like weary stars that had fallen to earth, shimmering gold and silver and ruby-red along the horizon. I smiled softly.

"Merry Christmas to all," I whispered to the winter wind, "and to all a good night."

My breaths curled in wreaths of white that evaporated like magic. The night was still and completely silent. I felt like the last creature on earth. Winter chill stung my skin. It had truly been an enchanted evening, and I was loath for it to end.

But time had not been friendly to Cinderella, either. Her ball ended at midnight, and my Christmas night had drawn to a close.

Just as I turned to descend the hill, I took one last look into the sky and noticed a wayward snowflake in the distance. It spun through the air, larger than the other snowflakes around it, hurtling toward the ground like a shooting star. A brief yell reached my ears.

A familiar yell — boyish and desperate. It ended abruptly when the snowflake crashed to the ground.

An answering cry tore from my throat. I blundered forward, sliding and skidding down the face of the hill, twisting between the barren trees. I reached the flat and plowed furiously through heavy snowdrifts, gasping for air and running with all my might. It seemed an eternity before I saw the fallen creature ahead of me, his white wings sticking up like lopsided Christmas trees.

It was Angel.


	5. How To Save A Life

"Angel!"

I threw myself into the snow beside his motionless form and touched his neck. Immediately I yanked my hand back, burnt by the fever raging beneath his skin.

"By the mane," I breathed, shrugging out of my trenchcoat. Angel was shaggier than I'd remembered; his blond hair had grown past the nape of his neck. His color was awful. He wore some kind of light blue uniform, which was shredded and slashed in a dozen places. If he'd had any injuries, they were already gone. His healing blood had erased the evidence. But why hadn't his body eradicated the fever?

I carefully rolled Angel onto his back and covered him with the coat. I touched his neck again, and a faint pulse met my probing fingers.

"Hold on, Angel," I gasped, gathering him in my arms - wings and all. I lurched upright and bounded in the direction of my cave, talking all the way. "I've got you now. Everything will be alright. Don't you give up on me, Angel, do you hear me?" Struggling to hold his bulky wings beyond reach of my churning hooves, I fought through the uphill snowdrifts until I was panting heavily and my muscles had turned to liquid.

But exhaustion couldn't stop me - not when Angel's life was at stake.

Snow fell harder, and harsh wind blasted icy flakes against my face. An eternity passed before I saw the cave entrance ahead. I plunged into the dark interior and stumbled toward the back bedroom. I placed Angel on the bed before my eyes had adjusted to the inky blackness.

"Let me find some blankets..."

I shifted into my humanoid form and scrambled for fresh candles. After lighting several and placing them in sconces along the walls, I dragged armfuls of thick furs into the bedroom and piled them atop the unconscious mutant, then hurried out and threw six logs into the stove. I prodded the logs with a branch until they flamed. Once I'd secured the deerskins over my door, the temperature rose rather quickly in my snow-insulated cave.

I returned to Angel's bedside and found him shivering. His eyes shifted beneath closed lids and he grimaced as if he were having an unpleasant dream.

"Easy," I murmured, rolling up my sleeves. I dug my satchel out of the top dresser drawer and produced my cherry cordial. Uncorking the flask, I administered a drop to Angel. Then I watched him intently, waiting for the usual results.

Minutes passed, and still Angel didn't wake.

Frowning, I gave him another drop - just to be safe - and put the flask away. I pressed a hand to Angel's clammy, overheated forehead and pursed my lips in concern. In the past, the cherry cordial had pulled my patients from the brink of death within seconds and restored them to perfect health. I had used the potent medicine on Narnians and mutants alike, all with predictable success. Why hadn't it worked on Angel?

Maybe the cordial, too, had changed with the times.

Somehow I couldn't accept that explanation. Something else was wrong.

The heat in the cave continued to rise. Thinking that food might improve the condition of a high-metabolism patient like Angel, I rolled up my sleeves and left the bedroom long enough to fill a large cooking pot of snow, and I set that on the stove to melt. I chopped carrots, onions, and potatoes and threw them into the water, followed by leftover turkey and a handful of Narnian herbs from my dwindling supplies. I added salt and a few spices, then left it to boil.

When I returned to Angel, I found him twisting from side to side beneath the mountain of furs. He groaned and thrashed.

"No," he mumbled, tossing his head against the pillow. "No... no. No more. Stay away from me..."

Alarmed, I hastened forward and gripped him by the shoulders.

"Angel!" I cried, shaking him hard. "Angel, wake up! Wake up!"

He grunted and fought my hold on him. Terror poured into my Danger Sense.

"Leave me alone," he pleaded in a voice that wrenched my heart. "Just let me die..."

Something inside me snapped. I shoved him down and slapped him across the face, hard.

"Angel! Wake up!"

His blue eyes flew open. He stared at me with the fevered look of a cornered animal.

A gasp of relief escaped me. "Thank Aslan," I breathed. "Angel..."

The wild look in his eyes only intensified. "Leave me in peace," he warned. "I'm done being your guinea pig. I'm dying..."

Cold fright knifed through my soul. "You are not!" I argued. "You're going to be fine. You have healing blood. Don't say things like that!"

All the fight seemed to drain out of him. "No more experiments," he muttered, sinking into the pillows. He reached weakly toward the back of his neck, but his hand fell short. "No more..."

His eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness.

"Angel!"

Frantically I grabbed his shoulders and shook him again. When he didn't respond, I seized him by the back of the neck - and stopped. An unfamiliar lump pressed against my fingers.

"What in Ettinsmoor..."

I pushed the heavy furs off of Angel and rolled him onto his face, brushing aside his long hair. A cylindrical shape about two inches long rose beneath his skin. When I gently felt along the lump, I discovered that it was something hard embedded in his spine.

I began to shake all over. Angel had pleaded for no more experiments, and after what I'd just found on his neck, those words seemed more grounded in reality than merely feverish ravings. I stared at his uniform, then the pallid hue of his cheek, then back at the lump attached to the base of his skull. What had they done to him?

I sucked in a painful breath. The cordial hadn't worked on him. Healing blood hadn't counteracted whatever was wrong with him. His temperature was rising and his pulse was fading. His color had deteriorated from deathly pale to a horrible shade of gray.

Suddenly I knew that Angel _was_ going to die.

I doubled over, choked with an aching grief so powerful that it shredded my heart in two. Fierce sobs scorched my throat. I sank to my knees by his bedside and fisted my hands in his ragged feathers, as if I could keep him from slipping away by that fragile hold on his wings. I buried my face in the furs.

"Don't leave me," I pleaded. "You can't leave me... not now..."

Blinded and strangled by tears, I lurched to my feet and spun around. I fell against the dresser, gasping for air in a world that had just turned upside down - again. I remembered thinking that heaven had thrown an unexpected gift from the sky when he'd landed in the snow near my cave. Now the gift felt like a curse. Had I not suffered enough, walking St. John through his final days? Why had Angel come back to me, if there was nothing I could do for him but watch him die?

My blurred gaze landed on the knife in my satchel.

Almost as if instinct had gripped me, I seized the knife without thinking and pounced on Angel. I paused long enough to slice a wide section of blue fabric from his uniform, which I wadded up beside the foreign lump. I poised the knife and braced myself.

"Good thing you're unconscious," I said through gritted teeth. "Else I'd have to hit you over the head..."

Fortified with pre-battle humor, I jabbed the knifepoint into his skin. Angel groaned and blood welled to the surface, which I instantly blotted away. Working quickly, I sliced a three-sided flap into his neck - directly over the odd lump. Then I pulled the flap back and studied the strange protrusion.

It was silver, made of metal and something clear - probably plastic, though I was no expert. Yellowish fluid filled half the cylindrical container, which ended in a needle that was buried in his spine.

Without a second thought, I took hold of the cylinder and pulled it upward toward his scalp, easing the long needle out of Angel's body. The moment it came free, I tossed it away and pressed the skin flap against his neck.

"There," I gasped, panting as if I'd just galloped flat-out across all of Narnia. I flattened my hand, and the wadded fabric, against the wound. "Now seal up," I pleaded with his body. "Just heal, like you were meant to do. Come on. It's worked before..."

I waited, counting my heartbeats. Then I moved the fabric a fraction and peered at his neck.

It wasn't healing.

"Blast!" I snarled, suddenly furious. "Rotten poison!"

Placing the knife atop the wad of fabric to apply a little weighted pressure, I spun around and attacked my satchel with bloody fingers. I found the cordial and pulled the cork with my teeth, pouring a little of the precious liquid into my quivering palm. Setting the flask on the nightstand, I moved the fabric aside and pressed my hand against Angel's neck.

I spat the cork onto the furs. "Come on, Angel," I growled. "Don't you _dare_ die on me! Don't you even know what day it is? It's Christmas. You can't die on _Christmas_. What kind of an angel dies on Christmas?"

I waited, my temper burning hotter with every passing moment. I pulled my hand away and found no visible change. An enraged roar of grief tore through me, and I sat down on the mattress beside him, helplessly angry. His healing blood didn't work because it had been poisoned. If only there were some way to get a hold of untainted healing blood, I thought bitterly. Other mutants at Xavier's also had healing factors. I didn't know whether they were compatible with Angel or not, but Storm would have known. Jean Grey would have known. Everyone who could have helped Angel was gone...

I pressed my bloody fingers against Angel's pulse. The feeble throb grew fainter with every heartbeat.

I began to shake all over, staring bleakly at the blood on my hands. If I'd only possessed that healing factor in my blood... I'd have given anything to heal Angel as he'd once healed me...

The thought stopped me cold.

"Oh Aslan," I gasped. I grabbed the knife and slashed my palm, then pressed it against the back of his neck - hoping, praying, pleading for it to work. Angel's blood had impacted me - to some small degree. It wasn't much... Maybe it would be enough...

_By the mane... Please work. Please._

My heart broke into every passing second. Then I moved my hand and dared to look. The wound had sealed.

I let go of Angel's neck and dropped to my knees, breathing heavily. Then I looked at my own hand and watched as the cut line faded to pink, then slowly blended into my natural skin tone. When I felt his pulse, the beats steadied against my fingers.

A groan wrenched from my soul. "Aslan..."

I collapsed on the rug-covered floor and lay there for a long time - not moving, not thinking, only breathing. Only breathing. Only breathing. The outside world ceased to exist. _I_ ceased to exist. The pounding of my heart gradually receded. For moments that felt like forever, I floated in a void halfway between consciousness and dreams.

A stronger emotion pierced my chest - full of life, awareness; bewildered curiosity. Then a warm hand touched my shoulder.

My eyes drifted closed as an ocean of relief washed over me, like healing blood to my battered soul.

"Thank Aslan," I rasped.

Then the tears came. In between broken sobs, hoarse laughter escaped me - taking with it the last of my strength. As if from far away, I heard Angel's voice - soft and familiar. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. It resonated through my entire being, but I couldn't comprehend the words.

A heavy fur draped over my body. I hadn't been aware that I was cold until that moment, and suddenly I found myself shivering. I snuggled into the glorious softness and burrowed my nose into its warmth.

Then Angel spoke again, and this time, I understood him. He simply called my name.

"Angel," I whispered back.

Intense gratitude flooded my Danger Sense, and I smiled.

"You're welcome," I said quietly.

Just to feel emotions other than my own was a tremendous gift - one I hadn't been privileged to experience, save occasional echoes here and there, in over a year. My tears eased. I sighed deeply and uttered a gentle moan, and the responding shift in my Danger Sense told me that Angel understood.

His fingers brushed my shoulder again. "Shh..."

There was so much I wanted to tell him. Just from the touch of his hand, I could tell that his fever had dropped. But I wanted to clean him up and feed him soup and take care of him. Struggling against the peaceful lethargy that had claimed me, I attempted to push myself up. The hand on my shoulder tensed.

"Tomorrow," was all he said.

_Tomorrow._ All of a sudden, that had become a beautiful word.

When I relaxed, so did Angel. I smiled again. A candle flickered out; then another. After I felt him drift into an exhausted slumber, I surrendered myself to sleep.


	6. Writing On The Wall

When I stirred again, my exhausted body registered that only a few hours had passed. But I had things to do - too many things to continue sleeping. After all, I was no longer alone...

A sudden well of joy sprung to life inside of me. My Danger Sense was alive, and the memories from the night before - while painful - had ended in a perfect peace that still remained. Smiling with uncontainable delight, I buried my face in the fur. My fingers closed over something as soft as powdered sugar. I lifted my head and discovered a white feather nestled in my hand.

Then I looked up and found Angel sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me.

"Angel!" I sat up immediately, gazing at him in wonder. A few hours ago, he'd been on Death's doormat. Now he sat with a serene expression, his hands clasped casually in his lap and his wings spread over the fur blankets to either side of him. He looked like he'd been awake for some time.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

I blushed at the warmth in his voice. "I, um..." I lifted a hand, then grimaced at how dirty and grimy I was. I smiled at Angel. "I've been a terrible hostess, I'm afraid. Would you... You're probably starving. Do you want something to eat?"

"Actually, I'm full for the time being," he replied, grinning. "I got up an hour ago and followed my nose to your delicious stew, which I found boiling into mush, so I helped myself to five or six bowls. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind!" I repeated with an incredulous laugh. My voice softened with intense feeling. "I made it for you."

"And you said you were a terrible hostess."

I couldn't help smiling. "I intended to do so much more, but I haven't galloped through the snow like that in a very long time. It took the stuffing out of me."

"That," said Angel, staring straight at me, "and saving my life."

I lowered my head. "I... I don't know what did it. I tried everything I could think of... I'm just grateful something worked." Tears invaded my vision, and I gulped. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Tell you what." Angel suddenly hopped off the bed with startling energy - particularly when one took into account the condition he'd been in the night before. "Why don't you let me take care of you for a change, instead of the other way around. As I recall, you have as voracious an appetite as I do, and you're probably starving. How about..." Before I could protest, Angel scooped me into his arms and placed me on the bed, pulling furs over me - perhaps in an attempt to keep me from getting down right away, I thought. "You stay here, and I'll be back."

"But Angel-"

"No buts! I can find my way around a cave, I should think," he said, managing to look affronted.

I flushed. "That's not what I meant, but-"

"There's that terrible conjunction again. Stay put, Violar. Don't make me tie you down before you'll let me care for you."

Reluctantly I relaxed into the pillows. "Thank you, Angel," I said softly.

"Don't mention it." He smiled. "Now don't move, and I'll be back before you know it."

I laughed as he exited the room, feeling warm all over. Memories may have faded, but emotional impressions were harder to erase, and I remembered very well the way Angel used to override my strong will with his stronger one. It was strangely fulfilling to surrender to him. I sighed and leaned back, staring at the cave ceiling that I'd painstakingly chipped into the rock, one hammer stroke at a time.

I loved him. I still loved him.

Suddenly I caught my breath. Oh Aslan! The cave walls!

I flung back the furs. A second later, I would have rocketed out of bed. But Angel appeared at that moment, holding a pot in his hands and a towel over his arm.

"I told you not to move," he chided, smiling as he entered.

"I... but..." I felt very pale and nervous. "Angel, please tell me. Did you read the walls?"

He chuckled as he knelt beside me. "Walls are difficult to read," he pointed out, but he avoided my gaze.

"Angel!" I snapped. "I'm serious. You know perfectly well that words cover those walls. Did you read them?"

When he lifted his blue eyes to mine, my breath caught. " 'I love Angel,' " he quoted solemnly. " 'I only regret that I never told him. I never had the chance to tell him - or so I told myself. And now it's too late.' "

I stared at him, robbed of speech. Those words had been written for my eyes alone. They were private thoughts - mine to share with whom I willed, when I willed. I wanted to be angry - and I was, a little. But more than anything, I felt vulnerable - exposed. And entirely helpless. There would be no changing anything - no turning back the clock and hiding the writing on the wall. What Angel knew now could not be erased. I bit my lip and frowned at the fur coverlet, a little sickened by the situation.

His hand cupped my cheek. "Hey, V. Please forgive me. I was curious... Imagine how you would feel if you'd seen a wall with your name on it. Tell me you wouldn't have been tempted to read it."

I nodded miserably. Bitter tears crept down my face. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For being angry?"

I shook my head. "No. I mean, well, yes, that too."

"For... loving me?"

I hesitated, then nodded.

His thumb brushed my tears away. "Now is not the time to be sorry," he said, his voice gentle.

I grimaced, feeling like a foal. "Not that it matters," I said, lifting my chin. "That was a long time ago."

"Violar." He looked so deeply into my eyes that I felt my soul quake. "This is not the time to salvage your pride, either."

My jaw tightened. "If pride is all one has, one salvages what little of it one can."

Angel flinched and drew back. I lowered my head again, missing the warmth of his hand - which only irritated me. Then, unable to bear any more of the strained conversation, I changed the subject. "What's in the pot?"

He glanced at me - searchingly, I thought - then went along with the digression. "It's water. I thought you'd need it."

Puzzled, I tilted my head. "Whatever for?"

That made Angel smile. He took my hand in his own and turned it over. Dried bloodstains covered my palm. But it wasn't the sight that caused me to tremble; it was Angel's touch. My involuntary responses to his nearness, to the slightest gesture from him, chafed me so terribly that I tried to pull back.

Angel's hand tightened on my wrist. "Let me," he said, firm but gentle.

My struggle instantly ceased. I could only watch, mesmerized, as Angel dipped the towel in water and began to wash away the evidence of last night's ordeal. To my surprise, the water felt warm. He'd taken the time to heat it over the stove, I realized.

The simple gesture made my heart ache. I bit my lip, but the slow, deliberate way he brushed a corner of the towel across my sensitive palm destroyed me one piece at a time. My nerves tingled pleasantly. I ducked my head, but tears escaped anyway and traced down my cheek.

He looked up at me. "Am I hurting you?"

I shook my head. "No." Surprised at my husky voice, I had to clear my throat twice. "I'm sorry... I'm just a little..."

When I couldn't come up with a proper descriptor, Angel provided helpfully, "Upset?"

"No. Maybe a little, but no. Emotional, perhaps."

Angel released my hand and touched my cheek again. His face drew close to mine, and the warmth in his blue eyes alarmed me. "I like it when you're emotional," he murmured, his voice soft as a caress.

My breath shuddered. "Why?"

He smiled, closing the distance between us. "Because you're vulnerable."

I suddenly knew that if I said nothing, if I did nothing, he would kiss me. And once he did, I would be lost. I loved him. With every fiber of my being, I loved him. But I didn't know whether he loved me. The knowledge scared me so thoroughly that it kept my head just above the enchantment he wove around me - the enchantment that would have otherwise drowned me. And oh, how glorious it would have been to drown in it...

"I don't want your pity," I choked out before I could change my mind.

Angel tilted his head, amused. His blue eyes sparkled as he hovered close to me - too close. "Is that what you think this is about?"

He was toying with me, I realized dimly. He hadn't forgotten how to charm a woman. He had all the romantic experience I lacked, and he was using it to his advantage. What terrified me is that I would have so gladly fallen prey to it - even for a little while, though it would have killed me in the end.

Forcing my skittish gaze to his, I steadied my voice. "What else could it be? Unless you're doing this because I'm the last woman around here..."

He jerked backwards as if I'd slapped him. The pain I felt in my Danger Sense reflected on my expression, and I looked at him with helpless apology and raw heartache in my eyes.

"Why do you think that, V?" he asked, genuinely confused.

I swallowed hard. "What else am I supposed to think, Angel?" I wondered brokenly. "I was the one who laid my heart bare on these walls, not you. The way I feel is not your fault, and it isn't your responsibility to... to be someone you're not for my sake. You've spent your entire life doing that... for your father, for other women..." I drew a sharp breath and shook my head. "Just forget what I wrote. I never meant for you to see it - not that it matters now. As I said, it belongs to the past. All I want now is your friendship, Angel. And... if you can spare it... I would ask your forgiveness, again, for the things I said to you when you saved my life all that time ago. And I'm happier than I can tell you that you're alive," I added with a soft smile.

Angel held very still, holding the bloodstained towel between both hands and staring at me. The wary look in his blue eyes was unmistakable.

Then, after a moment, he nodded. "I can do that," he said.

"Angel." A little bolder now, I set my hand atop his. "I truly am asking for your forgiveness. It isn't good enough for you to say, 'Don't mention it.' I felt, and still feel, horrible about the things I said to you that day. I know I hurt you very badly, and when you disappeared, I had no way to find you - no chance to make anything right. Those words have haunted and tormented me for too long. I need you to be honest with me now. If the things I said still hurt you, then I need you to share that with me. I... desperately need your forgiveness. I can't go on without it. Do you understand?"

The towel dropped to the rug, and he took my hands in his own. "I forgive you, Violar."

It was the earnest way he said the words, more than the words themselves, that jarred the festering thorn loose from my soul. A deep sigh escaped me, and I leaned forward to rest my forehead on his shoulder.

"I never meant a word of it," I confessed in a whisper. "It just made me half-crazy to accept my fate, then find myself pulled back to life. They call it survivor's remorse, I think. And I really am grateful... ever so grateful that you saved me from death." Angel's strong arms closed around me, and I sighed again, melting into his embrace. "At the time, I wanted that escape... I had resigned myself, you know?"

"Yeah." He rubbed my back. "I've felt that way a few times."

"Really?"

"When I couldn't... When you didn't wake up, when I thought I'd lost you, I wanted to die."

My heart wrenched, and I gripped him more tightly. "I'm _so sorry,_ Angel."

His powerful wings contracted, then expanded when he, too, released a deep sigh. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, Violar. I kept thinking that if I'd just flown a little faster, if I'd been there a little sooner..."

A cry caught in my throat. "Shh," I pleaded. "Everything turned out alright. You weren't too late. Even if you had been, it wouldn't have been your fault..."

A shudder ran through Angel. Then, slowly, he drew back to look at me. "If I had died last night, would that thought have been enough to console you?"

I bit my lip, seeing myself as I could have been - huddled in a corner and weeping until I couldn't breathe near Angel's motionless form. I winced at the vision and shook my head. "No. Nothing would have."

"Now you understand," he said quietly.

I gazed into his blue eyes - and smiled. He smiled back, then picked up the towel and continued washing my hands. As he bent over his task, I watched him with intense warmth burning in my heart. All his intuitiveness and sensitivity hadn't changed, along with his strength and courage. I couldn't help acknowledging, once again, how beautiful he was. Even the way his longer blond hair fell in thick waves over his head seemed to fit his personality better.

"By the way, I meant to tell you that the weather's gotten worse out there," he remarked presently.

I smiled mischievously. "Worse by whose standards?"

He looked up at me in surprise, and I laughed. He grinned. "Alright, points to you for that one. It's turned into a blizzard, if you'd like to know. That's especially good for us because it will have eradicated our tracks. Anyway, if it keeps up, we're bound to be snowed in."

"I see." I could feel the laughter gleaming in my eyes. "And what's so bad about that?"

"Excellent question. What do our food stores look like?"

"Well, I have enough meat packed into the cellar to last a snowed-in centaur for six months. Between the two of us, though, I'd give us three months. Maybe a little less."

His eyebrows shot up. "You have a cellar?"

I laughed. "Oh yes. It's very well stocked, too."

"You've been busy, haven't you." My Danger Sense flooded with admiration.

"Bored, more like," I replied, sobering. "And very lonely."

"Evidence of both is everywhere," he said sympathetically. He dipped the towel in water and stroked the grime from my other hand. "But now we shall put your hard work to good use. I have another suggestion too, if you'd like it."

"Please, name it," I encouraged.

"I noticed that you decorated for Christmas."

"You'd have to be blind not to notice that."

"Both my eyes are in perfect working order, apparently, since I did notice. But I wondered what sort of Christmas a centaur must have had in a cave like this, all by herself."

"A lonely one," I said, touched by his thoughtfulness. "But I made the best of it."

"I have no doubt of that, V. You always made the best of things, as far as I can remember. But Kurt Wagner explained to me once that Christmas Day is actually the first day of Christmas, traditionally. You know the song about the Twelve Days of Christmas?"

"Yes," I answered, smiling.

"This would be the morning of Day Two."

"Then I can legally wish you a Merry Christmas?"

His laughter filled my cave. "Among other things. I didn't have much of a Christmas either, so I hoped you'd be game for a... makeup celebration. A longer one."

I gazed at him, utterly delighted. "That would be lovely, Angel. What did you have in mind?"

Angel shrugged - both his shoulders and his wings. "I don't know, exactly. Something fun. What do you usually do to celebrate Christmas?"

I sat back and directed a smiling gaze at the ceiling. "Cook treats and eat them, and fix plenty of large and delicious - and more nutritious - meals besides. I give gifts and cards and even letters to friends." I closed my eyes, thinking about Christmases past in both Narnia and New York. "We used to play in the snow until we were too tired and cold to play anymore, and then we'd come inside and sit by the stove to thaw out. We'd drink hot chocolate with marshmallows and apple cider with cinnamon sticks, and we'd play board games like Monopoly and Checkers. Later we'd read stories and fall asleep under the Christmas tree. At least, the children fell asleep under the Christmas tree," I amended with a laugh, looking down at Angel once more. "I was too big to fit underneath the tree, so I fell asleep nearby - on the carpet or the couch. We used to tell stories by the fire. Admittedly, I told most of the stories. Centaurs have a good reputation in Narnia as storytellers, as the residents of Xavier's quickly learned. That's all I can think of. Do you have any other good ideas to contribute?"

Angel gazed at me with an odd, wistful look. "We'll do all these things," he said. "My experiences with Christmas have been a little less... well..." He made a face. "One year, my mutant teammates decided it would be a lark to turn me into the angel topper of a human-mutant pyramid-style Christmas tree."

I doubled over, squealing with laughter. "How in the world!"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't even ask. Nobody cared that I wasn't crazy about being associated with real angels. They just thought it was funny at the time. I borrowed Kurt to get back at Logan for that, because it had been Logan's idea to begin with. Kurt teleported into Kitty's room, swiped red and green nail polish, and painted Logan's claws in Christmas colors while the Wolverine was sound asleep."

I dissolved into giggles. "Sounds very festive."

"Logan wasn't of the same opinion. He threatened me with his new Christmas-colored claws."

My laughter faded. A fragment of memory surfaced - the way Angel had blanched the first time I'd drawn a sword around him. "He didn't mean it, did he?"

Angel gave me a meaningful look. "Sometimes it's not all peachy when you have a healing factor and all your super-powered friends know it. Grudge matches and brotherly quarrels got a little brutal."

I frowned. "I'm so sorry, Angel. That isn't funny."

"Logan thought it was," said Angel dryly. "He was equipped with claws, and he knew how to use them."

I took a deep breath, then forcibly brought the conversation back to cheerier ground. "Fortunately for you, I have no claws - and no desire to cause you pain, emotional or physical. I do, however, have an idea that may be a little like your pyramid tree," I remarked, struck by spur-of-the-moment inspiration. I smiled gently at his dubious look. "Only I think you'll enjoy it much better. Trust me on that."

"As long as you won't have me impersonating angels..."

"I won't. I promise."

He chuckled, then climbed stiffly to his feet. "Not that I mind my codename, but impersonating angels is going too far. I'm nothing like an angel."

"Yes you are," I blurted out. Then I bit my lip. "Please... don't take that the wrong way, Angel. You shouldn't have to be associated with angels if you don't want to be. You shouldn't have to be anyone but yourself."

He sighed and shrugged - again with both his shoulders and his wings. "Heavenly hosts set kind of a high standard to live up to, you know."

I studied him for a long moment. "I hadn't thought of that."

He smiled. "It's okay. Anyway, there is one other thing we should clear up before we go much further." When I prodded him silently with raised eyebrows, he explained, "Living arrangements."

"Ah." I smiled sheepishly. "I hadn't given that much thought, but you're right. Um... Let's make it easy. You take the bedroom, and I'll take the living room."

"But where will you sleep?" he asked, troubled. "I don't want to take the only bed in here."

"I've never slept in it. I sleep in the living room in my centaur form."

That puzzled Angel. "Then why did you go through the trouble of fixing up a bedroom, if you never intended to use it?"

"I really don't know, Angel," I answered with a sigh. "I think it reminded me of Xavier's, and I liked that. But it was painful to live the way I'd lived at the mansion when everyone I'd known and loved was gone. Now, however, I'm glad I did it. This could work out nicely for us. Do you like it?"

He paused to look around. "Yeah, I do, actually. It's no Marriott, but it's cozy."

Warmed by his compliment, I smiled. "Thank you so much. We can fix it up a lot more, if you like. Home improvement is a splendid way to pass the time. Meanwhile, I'll put up a deerskin door to give you some privacy."

"That would be great," he said. "Now, before we make any other plans, shall we get something to eat? I'm sure your stew is boiling by now. I set it on the stove an hour ago to heat up, and the smell is killing me. Are you hungry?"

"Starved," I replied enthusiastically, drawing back the furs to climb out of bed and follow him.

He raised a hand. "Stay right there, centaur," he said with a wink. "I'll serve our early lunch in here. You carved very nice bowls out of wood, by the way."

"Thank you, Angel," I answered, settling against the pillows once more.

"Don't mention it." He leaned down to pick up the pot of water and the towel, then turned to leave.

"Angel?"

He stopped and glanced back. "Yes?"

I smiled. "Merry Christmas."

The look he gave me warmed me clear through. "Merry Christmas to you also, V. This will be very special for both of us."

After he left, I snuggled into the furs, reflecting that I hadn't looked forward to anything with such enthusiasm in over two years. It would be a very special Christmas for us, indeed.


	7. Learning To Fly

"No peeking!" I called over my shoulder, smothering a laugh.

"Why not?" whined Angel, his voice muffled behind the deerskin curtain covering his bedroom. "I want to know what you're doing!"

I giggled, studying the deerskin vest I'd sewed for Angel. It was a medieval-styled work of art, with light-colored deerskin ruffs on the sleeveless shoulders and the waistline. Only the finishing touches remained - deerskin leather laces at the throat and beneath the holes I'd made for his wings. "You can't know yet! It's a surprise, and it'll be done in a minute if you stop making me laugh!"

"Just a little peek?" he wheedled.

"Ouch!" I pricked my finger with the needle. "Warren Worthington the Third, you are going to be in so much trouble! If you'll just have one minute's patience, you will be richly rewarded - I promise you. No go sit down and preen your feathers or something."

Angel grumbled something about women and being trapped in a small room, but my Danger Sense tingled with amusement. I heard him shuffle away from the curtain.

"By the way, how do the jeans fit?" I wondered, working another stitch into my project.

"A little baggy, actually. They're hardly designer jeans, and they're a size or two larger than I prefer, but I'm not in much of a complaining mood. It's nice to be wearing jeans again, even if they are hand-me-downs from God-knows-who."

"I can make you a belt, if you like," I offered.

"If it isn't too much trouble, I'll take you up on that, V."

"It isn't too much trouble. I have a lot of spare leather pieces around here."

"I'd be very grateful for a belt, otherwise these jeans are liable to come off in the middle of a flight."

I choked, then gasped as the needle pierced my fingertip again. I shot a look at the deerskin curtain. "We can't have that," I said dryly. "I can either make you a belt or feed you a wheelbarrow full of cookies to fill you out."

Angel chuckled. "Not that I'd mind the wheelbarrow full of cookies, but I doubt it would have much of an effect on me. My metabolism burns calories like there's no tomorrow."

I laughed. It felt so good to banter with someone again - like taking a gulp of fresh air after being trapped underwater for too long. Angel hadn't lost his touch, either. His wit remained as sharp as ever, and his familiar humor amused and healed me. I had missed him so much - even before Xavier's had been lost to me; even before I'd wounded him so terribly that he'd kept his distance after he'd saved my life. Whether he'd been hiding from Thea or truly busy with his office work, Angel sightings were scarce. I'd worried over him when he didn't show up for weeks at a time, and I'd exhaled every time he returned.

Now Angel was here - permanently. In my cave. He had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. If Worthington Industries still existed, Angel had no offices to demand his time or attention. Mutants no longer patrolled the skies or saved the world, so Angel couldn't even escape to play superhero. I had him all to myself, and that was an undeniable thrill for me.

Moments later, I completed the final stitches and wrapped up my creation with brown paper left over from my Christmas celebration. That lonely Christmas night had occurred less than twenty-four hours ago, but it felt like an eternity had passed since the empty days that had brought me to this place. Even though snow piled outside my cave, I felt as if my winter were already coming to an end. I hadn't been forgotten, after all. I still had Angel - by some miracle.

I crossed the living room and flung back the curtain, smiling as I held out the package. "Merry Christmas, Angel."

He looked up at me, then at the wrapped package. Suddenly the emotions in my Danger Sense shifted toward embarrassment. "Ah, love, you didn't have to do that," he said, rising slowly. "I don't have anything for you yet."

The term of endearment caught me by surprise. Then I remembered, with a touch of wistful heartache, that Angel had always called me by that beautiful name in the old days.

"That doesn't matter to me, Angel," I replied softly. "I've been here longer than you, and that means I'm a little more prepared. Besides, you and I have twelve days for all this."

"Eleven," he corrected.

"Right, eleven." I smiled. "This is the Second Day of Christmas. Still, there's no hurry. I just thought you might... you might... need this."

Angel took a step forward, and I felt his fingers brush mine. A shock rippled through my nerves. It must have reflected in my face, because he paused, prolonging the touch. His blue eyes darkened several shades as they looked into mine.

Abruptly nervous, I swallowed hard. "Please, Angel. I... I really want you to have this."

With a slight smile, Angel took it. His hand slid away - more slowly than necessary, I thought - and I pressed my fists into the folds of my skirt to hide a shiver. Whether Angel noticed or not, I felt relieved when he turned his attention to the present and carefully unwrapped it.

He smiled, obviously pleased. "Wow. This is... very nice. Did you make it?"

"Yes," I answered shyly.

"This kind of high fashion would've sold for a pretty penny in New York City," he remarked. "Or at least it would have, back in the day. I love it, Violar." He turned it over and noticed the laces in the back. That made him smile again. "Thoughtful, as always. I'm very grateful. I was wondering, though, why it doesn't have any sleeves. Isn't it a little cold to be flying around in December without sleeves?"

"A very good question," I said, smiling. "Fortunately, I was prepared for you to ask. I have two answers: First, keeping one's body warm is the most important element in keeping one's extremities warm. Your body draws heat away from your hands and feet, then your arms and legs, to insulate your most critical organs against the cold. It's a survival mechanism. Jean Grey explained it to me. Secondly, wait here."

I ducked outside the curtain, then returned a moment later with a second package and a bright smile. He glanced at me quizzically, then unwrapped a forest-green turtleneck made of thick, high-quality fabric. Earlier that afternoon, I had altered the back of it with leather laces to accommodate his wings. Angel examined it as if stunned, then stared at me without words.

"I found it some time ago," I explained. "I've had it for several months now. I thought it would be the perfect size for you. Go ahead, try it on."

He blinked. "I'm speechless, Violar. You know what to get for the guy who has everything."

I chuckled sheepishly. "Only now that you don't have anything."

"Touche. So, um, would you mind giving me a hand with these laces?"

"Not at all, Angel. I'll step out for a moment while you change."

"No need. This thing's practically shredded off anyway." He yanked what was left of his blue uniform shirt over his head, which caused me to blush and turn aside. When amusement filtered into my Danger Sense, I pretended to pick lint off the deerskin curtain. The amusement quadrupled. My cheeks grew hotter.

Suddenly I whirled around with a determined glare: Angel shouldn't have had that kind of effect on me. In Narnia, shirtless centaurs and fauns were quite ordinary. And I was a healer, for Aslan's sake.

He was just... very good-looking. He radiated power and raw magnetism and...

I balled my fists and scowled at the wall. Angel pulled on the turtleneck, smoothing the fabric appreciatively. Then he donned the vest and smiled at me, and most of my irritation drained away.

"How do I look?" he inquired.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "You're incorrigible, Angel."

"That's a bit of an oxymoron, isn't it? An incorrigible angel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Turn around and let me get those laces."

Angel grinned, then obediently faced the wall, presenting his back and twin eight-foot waterfalls of white feathers. I had to steady myself, remembering another time - long ago - when Angel had asked me to secure the special buttons on the back of his shirt. Such immediate trust had captured my heart. He'd barely known me back then, and he'd wanted me to take care of him.

Tenderness swept over me as I took the laces in my hands, weaving them in crisscrosses through the holes I'd fashioned in the turtleneck - and repeating the process with his vest laces. He still smelled good. Last time I'd been privileged to fasten one of his shirts, he'd just gotten out of the shower, and the delicate scent of his wet feathers had reminded me of a Narnian forest after a rainstorm. The smell of his dry feathers was reminiscent of pixie dust - light and airy and faintly sweet, but barely there.

When I tied off the laces, I moved backwards - and hesitated. His magnificent wings were so close... I remembered the softness of them, the way Angel had melted beneath my hands...

I couldn't help myself. As if on their own, my trembling fingers smoothed gently over the surface of his powder-soft feathers. I heard the breath catch in Angel's throat, and then he relaxed. His wings expanded and quivered, spreading more of his feathers toward my hands.

"Don't stop," he said huskily.

I gulped. "I thought... your feathers... didn't feel anything," I managed, remembering his pinch-and-tug demonstration on my sleeve in Xavier's courtyard two years before.

"My feathers don't," he answered in the same hoarse tone. "But I do."

A fierce shudder raced through me. My hands instantly stilled.

When he looked questioningly over his shoulder, I cleared my throat. "Angel, the storm has lightened up. I thought we should go outside and stretch your wings while the weather holds, and we can do this later."

He nodded wordlessly and moved past me, then stopped in the doorway and drew back the deerskin curtain. He gave me a warm smile. "After you, love."

I returned his smile, stiffened quaking knees, and somehow managed to walk by him without shattering into a thousand pieces. I felt like a thousand pieces on the inside.

"You know, Angel, I had an idea," I said as I pulled my trenchcoat over my blouse and skirt. Once words filled the space between us, I had the courage to face him. "You probably should warm up your wings before taking flight, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "I doubt it's necessary."

"But it could be fun," I hinted, smiling.

He looked at me quizzically. "Okay, I'm game. What did you have in mind?"

"I'll show you. And here - use this for a belt." I handed him a long strip of deerskin, left over from my vest project. He accepted it gratefully.

I tugged on a pair of deerskin gloves, which were incredibly soft. I caught Angel staring at them, and I made myself a mental note. Another pair of deerskin gloves would be my next Twelve Days of Christmas gift project.

I let Angel draw back the deerskin door - he took every opportunity to play the gentleman, I noticed - and I stepped up onto a fresh two-foot snowdrift. For a moment I stood atop a delicate snow crust. And sank down so suddenly that I laughed.

"We got quite a little flurry last night!" I remarked, touching my choker. At once I shifted into my centaur form and shook my palomino coat, whisking my white tail. "This is perfect. Are you ready?" I held out my hand to Angel.

He hesitated. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you for a snow ride," I answered, grinning. "Come on!"

He took my hand and kissed the back of my knuckles, which caused my breath to hitch. Then he settled on my back and wrapped his strong arms around my waist, and a feeling of absolute completeness - absolute wholeness - enveloped me. I gazed into the white sky, and a few stray snowflakes landed on my cheeks like winter fairy dust.

"Giddyup?" prompted Angel with a chuckle.

I giggled. "Stretch out your wings first. Angle them carefully, though - don't cause any wind drag unless you want us to stop. Here's the deal, Angel," I went on seriously. "I'll show you how to steer a centaur without reins. Hold on tightly to me, and use your wings to bank us left and right. Ready?"

"I think I can handle that, yeah." A smile lurked in his voice.

"Good. We're off!"

I rocked backward onto my hind legs, gathered my hindquarters, and launched us into a swift canter. Snow churned beneath my pounding hooves. Within moments, excitement gripped me. It felt good to run in the cold air; it felt even better to have Angel on my back. A laugh bubbled inside of me, and I shook out my dark hair. Angel's body pressed into my upper back, and his face came beside mine.

"Faster," he whispered in my ear, tucking his wings into diving position.

I rocketed forward and dashed between the bare trees, galloping toward the lower ground and heading for an open meadow. When I reached it, I stretched my legs fully and flew across the snow-covered plain.

"Help me out!" I shouted over the screaming wind, laughing. "Use your wings! Give me a little lift!"

Instantly Angel's wings unfurled to my left and right and beat hard. I gasped when I felt weight leave my body, raising me up just enough that my hooves barely seemed to touch the snow. Suddenly my speed increased until I seemed to glide over the white surface, and Angel's giddy laughter joined mine.

"I'm a flying centaur!" I squealed, which made Angel laugh harder. He dipped his right wing and lifted his left, leaning to the right, and my whole body tipped with him. We spun in a gentle arc and, as Angel's wings evened out, I shot forward faster than before. Then he tried a left turn, a long figure eight, then straightened me out to gallop straight across the meadow.

I was beside myself with delight. For years I had wondered if Angel and I could team up that way - to join our two natures into one and fly together. Suddenly that dream was coming true. My hearts soared, my muscles slid easily beneath my coat, and Angel held me so tightly that we seemed to merge into a single creature. Cold air flooded my lungs and hot blood coursed through my body. A glance to either side revealed glorious white wings sweeping up and down, and my strong forward momentum caused such a powerful wind current that forced his enormous wings to lift us from the earth. No longer did my legs plow through the snow; only faint whispers of white scraped beneath my hooves.

It was incredible. It destroyed everything I'd ever imagined. The tears that stung my eyes were not from the wind alone.

"Angel," I breathed, taking his hands in mine. "One more turn, then stand up on my back. Keep your wings unfurled."

His blue eyes met mine for a single instant, and as if he'd read my thoughts, I felt his understanding flow through my Danger Sense. We both faced forward, and Angel curved his wings gently to the right for a long, loose turn.

Then he straightened us out. His hands gripped mine, and with a single hop, he balanced his boots on my back. His arms released my body. Gravity suddenly yanked me to earth, and I laughed, nearly stumbling face-first into the heavy snowdrifts that pulled at my legs. I struggled for new equilibrium, plowing determinedly through the snow. My legs quickly turned into rubber.

I glanced over my shoulder. "Ready?"

Angel flashed a grin. "Bring it on."

I laughed, then charged ahead and flung my arms forward with all my might. Angel let go and soared straight into the sky, like a kite that had pulled free of its string to fly with the wind. I bounded to a halt and panted heavily, watching Angel revel in his natural element. I saw him close his eyes and give himself to perfect freedom.

He whirled and dipped and rose, then stilled, allowing the wind currents to carry him. His blue eyes opened and fixed on me, and I smiled back at him through white puffs of my own breathing. Then he spun away and climbed altitude rapidly. He stopped and hovered for a long moment far above the world. Then his wings pinned so close to his body that they seemed to disappear, and he stretched his arms in a perfect swan dive before tucking them at his sides. He rocketed straight toward the meadow - straight toward me.

A gasp caught in my throat. I barely had time to slap my sapphire choker and shift into my humanoid form. I lifted my arms to him as he picked up speed, nearing the ground with terrifying swiftness.

At the last second, I jumped. My boots left the ground. Time stopped.

Angel's body slammed into mine.

"Oof!"

His wings beat hard, lifting us quickly into the sky, and I couldn't stop laughing. I shoved the hair out of my face as Angel spiraled us straight up, then dropped straight down. I struggled to breathe, exhilarated and wild with joy... and terrified. I flung my arms around Angel's neck and refused to let go.

"Easy, love," he murmured, grinning. He held me tightly against his chest. "Don't choke me while I'm trying to fly."

I giggled and buried my face in his shoulder. "It's scary!"

Warm laughter resonated in his chest, and I felt our flight pattern smooth out. We rose into the air, and Angel stretched his wings into a soaring position.

"Better?"

Shakily I emerged from his shoulder and looked down. To see the trees so far below twisted my stomach into knots.

"Yes, much better."

He laughed and kissed my cheek. Heat spread through my whole body, and I gazed up at him, wondering if he knew the way I felt every time he treated me like... like a lover. Friends did kiss one another in a gentle, affectionate fashion. But for me, Angel's overtures felt more intimate.

Was it just me?

As if he sensed my questioning gaze, Angel looked down at me and smiled. Without lessening the security of his embrace, he lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair off my forehead.

"You have beautiful eyes, Violar."

I blushed and lowered my gaze, allowing my lashes to shield my eyes from view. "I can't help that, but thank you."

"You're trembling."

My gaze shot back to his. "Am I?" Just as swiftly, I looked away. He had rattled me - with a kiss to the cheek and a single compliment. I tried to steady my breathing. "M-maybe it's the heights. They do make a centaur a little giddy. I-"

Suddenly his lips pressed against my neck. I gasped. A shudder ran through me, and my arms tightened reflexively around his neck.

"I doubt it's the heights, love," remarked Angel quietly, moving his lips up to my ear.

Shaking badly, I gripped his shoulders and kept my head turned resolutely away. "The... the air is thinner up here too," I added hastily. "That... could account for it."

Angel chuckled. His lips abandoned my ear. "You're very determined, aren't you?"

I gulped. "We... we have so much... to talk about."

His fingers caught my chin. Reluctantly I allowed him to turn my face toward his. Our eyes met, and he gazed searchingly at me. What he found surprised and amazed him.

"Are you... afraid?"

My eyes welled with tears. I wanted to deny it, but... I couldn't. I nodded jerkily.

"Shh," whispered Angel, pulling me close. I buried my face in his shoulder as sudden sobs broke from my body. I was aware of Angel alternately stroking my hair and rubbing my back, and my Danger Sense swelled with sympathy... and uncertainty. His chin came to rest atop my head, and I felt something else: Disappointment. And then a touch of wry amusement surfaced.

"You are a remarkable woman, Violar," he observed with a chuckle. Just as suddenly, his emotions plummeted toward something that resembled self-loathing. "I shouldn't have pushed you so fast. I'm sorry I scared you, Violar."

I choked down the tears and swallowed hard. "You didn't mean to," I whispered.

"Regardless, it happened."

"It's not your fault," I murmured against his shoulder. "None of this... is your fault."

His hand brushed soothingly through my hair. "It isn't your fault, either."

I sighed deeply. Tension left my body, and I relaxed against him - though I wasn't entirely sure why. Angel felt it, and relief cooled the negative emotions running through my Danger Sense. His fingers stroked my hair, and I closed my eyes as the knots inside of me eased.

"Thank you," I whispered.

His cheek pressed protectively against my head for a moment. "Violar, I want to show you something."

I felt us rise higher in the air before I opened my eyes. I ventured a glance at the world below before misty clouds obscured my vision. I lost all sense of distance. Thick whiteness surrounded us, and still Angel climbed, his wings beating the clouds into swirls that drifted around us like wisps of magic. Although I knew that Angel was quickly flying straight up, it felt like we weren't moving - as if we were caught in the midst of forever.

Suddenly we broke through. Blue skies glittered above us, and the sun felt warm against my cold cheeks.

"Oh," I breathed, sitting up to look around. It was the most incredible place I'd ever seen.


	8. The Tale Of Sir Dunstan

The cloud formations were spectacular - some perfectly flat, like white plains that one could have walked on; interrupted here and there by white hills and shadowed lavender valleys. Towers and fortresses built of fluffy stone rose here and there, gilded by the western sun.

"Look at that," I said, pointing. "It looks like a castle - an enchanted cloud castle." Angel smiled as I went on. "Maybe a knight lives there - a lonely knight who has been exiled up here in this beautiful place for a thousand years, right in the middle of an ocean in the sky. Look over there! That great big cloud is sitting on... on nothing! It looks like a plate set on a glass table when viewed from beneath."

Angel chuckled. "You like it up here?"

"Do I ever! I... it's... incredible. I never even imagined anything like this."

My Danger Sense swelled with gratification. "I should have brought you up here sooner," he remarked - somewhat regretfully, I thought. "Much sooner. I take this place for granted, and I can fly here any time I like."

I looked up at him. "You're lucky, Angel."

His blue eyes met mine. "I feel that way when you're here with me," he said, equally serious. "Most of the time, this is a lonely place to be. Even your knight," he nodded in the direction of the castle, "would tire of its beauty over time. He probably sees it as little more than a barren wasteland. There is nothing up here - no sound, no warmth, no trees, no civilization. Nothing."

My heart ached. Reaching up, I touched his cheek, and he tipped his face into my palm.

"I suppose the enchantment would wear off after awhile," I conceded. "But you _are_ lucky, Angel. This is a lonely place because few have been blessed with the power to visit it. This..." I looked around. "This is... a whole cloud kingdom, Angel; the realm of the sky. It was given to you as a gift."

"I don't want it." Angel's voice fell so flat that I stared at him, startled. "I never asked for this, Violar. I can't trade it for anything else, and I would if I could - in a heartbeat."

"What would you trade it for, Angel? What do you want?"

His eyes shadowed with thought. "I don't know. I really don't know. I've never been given the... the choice to ask myself that question."

"You don't have to ask yourself, because _I'm_ asking you right now. What do you want?"

Angel shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Normalcy, perhaps."

"And if you had normalcy, what would you wish for then?"

His eyebrows jumped. Then he frowned, as if pondering a new concept. "I don't know that either. The sky, maybe. And wings." He smiled ruefully.

I took his face in both hands. "That's because you weren't _created _for a normal life, Angel. This... up here... this is where you belong."

Our gazes locked for a long moment. Then I released him, and he sighed deeply and turned away, looking around - just as I had done, as if he too were seeing the clouds for the first time. He flapped his wings once, pushing us slowly forward, and we drifted through the sculptured landscape in silence.

The otherworldly magic of the place captured me once more, and I couldn't stifle a gasp of delight when we flew through an archway made of clouds.

Angel smiled. "Want to visit the knight?"

I looked up hopefully. "Could we? I know it's getting late..." I glanced pointedly into the west, where the sun sank into a white-gold ocean of clouds. The sky above us turned purple. "That is a beautiful sunset, by the way."

"It's later than you think, love." Angel chuckled. "It's sunset up here, but down below, it's already deep into the twilight stages. It'll probably be dark by the time we land."

My stomach growled. I grimaced, then smiled sheepishly at Angel. "Thanks for reminding me that it's dinnertime."

He grinned. "How much longer do you want to stay up here?"

"I'd stay up here all night, if I could."

His arms tightened around me in an affectionate squeeze. "There will be other flights - and very soon," he promised. "I owe you for a lot of lost time up here. C'mon, let's go visit your knight, then fly onward. There is one other thing I'd like you to see before we head back."

He banked smoothly to the right and flapped his wings, increasing our speed. I brushed my hair aside before it could fly into his face, and I settled back, thoroughly enjoying the flight. The white castle loomed in the distance, and some of its towers had lost their shape in the changeable winds. But it was still definitely a castle.

And it was farther away than it looked. Perspective above the clouds differed from perspective below - just like perspective in Narnia, a perfectly flat world, differed from perspective in New York: A city in a round world.

I gave my head a dizzy shake. It was a lot to contemplate. Then I had a glimpse of Angel from the corner of my eye, and he smiled at me. I looked up at him and smiled back.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"My pleasure."

I was grateful that he hadn't said, "Don't mention it."

Stars appeared in the purple sky when we arrived at the castle. I laughed and pointed. "Look - it even has a front door!"

"You want to go inside?" asked Angel.

I thought that over, then shook my head. "No, the knight may not be very friendly. Or perhaps he enjoys his solitude so much that he wouldn't want to be disturbed. In any case, I wouldn't want to break down his front door!"

Angel laughed and squeezed me again. "Quite the imagination you have, V."

"Centaurs have to have good imaginations," I replied matter-of-factly. "We're supposed to be excellent storytellers."

"I can see why. Well, since we're here, would you like to do anything else?"

"Could we fly around the castle and have a better look?"

"Of course. Your wish is my command."

I giggled at the phrase as Angel swooped left, then circled the castle at close range. The castle was larger than it had appeared in the distance, much to my delight, and it took us a long time to make a complete circuit around it. I blew imaginary dust off what looked to be a castle window as we passed.

"How can the knight see out of cloud windows?" Angel wanted to know.

"They're enchanted," I replied immediately, looking up at him with a serious expression. "He's watching us right now. The windows allow him to see us, but we can't see him."

"Creepy."

I giggled again. "It's part of his exile," I explained, trying valiantly to continue my story as if it weren't being fabricated at that very moment. "He used to be a very wicked knight, and he traveled the world long ago, scorning those beneath his station and fighting for whoever would pay him. He was a mercenary - in part because he had little choice, but he fought for lords who conquered and enslaved innocents. He could have chosen better causes to fight for, but he didn't. He was an excellent fighter, nigh impossible to defeat-"

"Nigh impossible?" interrupted Angel, smiling. The story had his full attention.

I grinned. "Yes, nigh impossible. Does this trouble you?"

"No, no, not at all." Angel laughed, lifting us higher to circle the castle's uneven turrets. "It's just not not something I've heard anyone say before, that's all."

"In Narnia, it's common language."

"Maybe it used to be common here, because I've read the phrase many times in books. But no one ever drops 'nigh impossible' into casual conversation these days. Anyway, I don't mean to interrupt your story. Please, go on."

I smiled. "Where was I?"

"You said he was nigh impossible to defeat."

"Oh yes. And conquering lords were willing to pay higher prices for the best knights, particularly knights without principles. This knight had none."

"Did this dastardly, unprincipled knight have a name?"

"Dunstan," I blurted, deciding on the first name that came to mind. "Sir Dunstan."

"Ah. Then what happened?"

"As happens with many knights, both good and evil, Sir Dunstan eventually met his match on the battlefield. A mysterious knight in black armor knocked Sir Dunstan from his horse and broke his arm."

"How come the mysterious knight had black armor? I thought bad guys were supposed to have black armor."

"Not all of them," I corrected, grinning. "Actually, the black knight originally wanted blue armor, but the armorer warned him that he'd stick out like a sore thumb and make himself a target."

Angel laughed, enjoying himself immensely. "Okay, so Sir Dunstan battled the good-knight-in-evil-knight's-black and wound up with a busted flipper. Then what?"

I giggled. "Well, Sir Dunstan didn't have any friends among his ranks - being that he was a hired knight who kept to himself anyway. He was nearly trampled before he managed to crawl into the forest, and then he lost consciousness."

"I almost feel bad for the guy."

I giggled again. "You should! He led a very lonely way of life."

"So let me guess. He wandered into the shadowed forest and fell under some kind of enchantment?"

Angel's wit made me giddy. "No," I said, laughing, "but a terrible fate could have befallen him, had it not been for... an angel."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? An angel in a dark enchanted forest?"

"Angels are everywhere," I told him.

"Touche. So what did the angel do?"

I grew thoughtful. "Sir Dunstan didn't see or hear anything from the moment he lost consciousness until the moment he woke up in a light, airy cottage. Morning sun streamed through the windows, and-"

"Did a beautiful maiden come in?"

"I'm getting to that!" I cried, laughing. "Angel, you're jumping ahead."

"Sorry." He grinned, not the least bit apologetic.

I smiled back at him, feeling as if my heart would burst. I hadn't seen that look on his face in so long.

"A beautiful maiden brought him breakfast. Sir Dunstan discovered that his arm had been bandaged, and there was no pain. Remarkably, the maiden told him that his arm would be good as new by the next day. That seemed a very short time, or so he thought - until the maiden told him that he'd been sleeping for a fortnight."

"Two weeks!"

I laughed. "Yes, two weeks. No wonder he was ravenous. He cleaned every crumb from that tray and two others. The next morning, his arm was completely healed, just as the maiden had said. When she took off the bandage, he rose to leave. He thanked her and announced his intention to return to the fighting, which made the maiden very sad."

"Because she'd fallen in love with him and wanted him to stay forever?" guessed Angel.

"No!" I giggled. "That wasn't it. Actually, she told him that the conquering lord whom Sir Dunstan fought for was attempting to take over the nearby village where her family lived. She had gone to stay in the woodland cottage for safety, and that's when she'd found the unconscious knight."

"That ought to have given him a pang of conscience."

"It should have, but it didn't. Sir Dunstan stood to make a lot of money if the campaign were successful, and he was not moved by her tears. He returned to his camp, mounted his horse, and charged right back into the fray."

"What an idiot."

I burst out laughing.

"Well, he was!"

"He was a battle-hardened warrior," I pointed out, smiling. "It was the only life he'd ever known. If you'd grown up in Narnia, you wouldn't find the concept so far-fetched."

"So you know warriors like your Sir Dunstan?"

I looked straight into his blue eyes. "Yes. For a long time, I was one of them."

That startled Angel. He blinked as if seeing me for the first time. Then his expression turned to utter and complete astonishment. "I don't believe that."

"I never fought as a mercenary, nor did I fight for conquering warlords. I fought for the good of Narnia, for Aslan, and to protect innocent creatures. But I became a warrior nonetheless. And it does change you - for better and for worse. Sometimes... much worse."

Angel sobered. He picked up a lock of my hair and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers, drifting in lazy circles over the cloud castle. "Please, go on with your story," he said quietly. "I apologize for interrupting."

I brushed a hand over his cheek. "I love your questions, though. No apology is necessary. As for Sir Dunstan, well... perhaps his mind was more preoccupied with the maiden and her tearful request than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Or perhaps the black knight was far more skilled than he. Whatever the case, they clashed once more on the field of battle, and this time the black knight's spear pierced Sir Dunstan's neck. He toppled from his horse, and he knew he was dying. What good was money to him now?"

Angel sighed and shook his head. "He _was_ an idiot," he remarked gravely.

I nodded, because I had to agree with him. "The black knight dismounted and knelt on the ground, and with his dying breaths, Sir Dunstan told him about every weakness among their ranks - everything he needed to know to defeat the conquering warlord. The black knight whispered a prayer over Sir Dunstan and rode away, never seeing the maiden who walked out of the forest. She was the angel, you see," I went on, smiling. "She knew what had happened. She couldn't repair his mortal wound, nor could she save him from the consequences of his life. But she interceded on his behalf to have him placed here in this beautiful cloud castle, alone, for a thousand years. When that time has ended, she will be with him forever."

Angel fell silent, looking at the castle below us. "I suppose he was lucky in the end," he said finally.

I nodded, because I had to agree with that also. "He made the right choices before it was too late."

"How much of his sentence has he served already?"

"Hard to say," I replied. "I only know the story. I don't know how much time has passed, or when his imprisonment will end. But we can always hope that it will be soon."

Angel gazed down at me with a heartwarming smile. "I do hope that, even for the poor sod."

I laughed. "I hope so too - also for the maiden's sake!"

He rolled his eyes and grinned, then wheeled away from the castle and flew northward into the indigo sky. "She should have asked for less than a thousand years, if she felt that a millennia of separation would be so difficult to bear."

"I doubt she had much say in the matter," I answered, sobering. "She loved him, but she couldn't spare him from a lifetime of consequences. She could only keep him from being completely lost."

Tension hummed to life in my Danger Sense, and I shifted uncomfortably. There existed a parallel between Angel and myself in the tale of Sir Dunstan, but even I didn't know what it was. Or perhaps I didn't _want_ to know. Searching for a distraction, I noted that our direction of flight carried us northward, and that - although the sun had set long ago - light still illuminated the western sky, turning the horizon a delicate shade of frost blue. Ice glazed the shadowed cloud formations below.

Presently Angel leaned his head against mine. "Look up."

Surprised by his gentleness, I glanced at him, then followed his gaze upward. At once I gasped. Faint ribbons of green and blue light coiled back and forth among the stars.

"The... the Northern Lights!"

Angel smiled, and peace smoothed every wrinkle in my Danger Sense. "Yeah. This is the best place to view the Aurora Borealis - at least that I've found so far. Although I've never been to Alaska, and I hear the Northern Lights are quite spectacular there. I've seen pictures that look like trick photography, and I've always wondered if the colors actually look so bright and clear when you see them in person."

Rendered speechless, I watched the blue-green curls dance across the universe. Green branches occasionally broke off and whipped past like visible wind, then disappeared into the cosmos. I had never seen anything like it.

When I didn't answer, Angel made a contented noise in his throat and pulled me closer. With his head still resting on mine, we drifted silently northward, as if Angel were flying us straight into the Aurora's grasp. The shifting lights curved toward us as if forming a delicate pathway to heaven.

I swallowed hard and found my voice. "We should... visit Alaska."

That made Angel smile against my hair. "We have no other pressing appointments, love. If you're up for the trip, I'll take you there."

I nodded, my wondrous gaze on the miracle unfolding in the sky. "I'd be delighted," I whispered.

For some time, we were quiet - just tiny pieces of wind and sky floating beneath the intense beauty of God's creation. Countless stars shimmered like diamonds in heaven's vaults, and long fingers of blue-green fire played among the glittering jewels and wove around the huge nail-paring rim of the rising moon. It was enough to take my breath away.

After awhile, Angel spoke again - but softly, reverently. "I would keep you up here forever if I could, Violar, but we should go back before I get too tired to fly."

I wrenched my gaze from the Northern Lights and looked into his blue eyes. "Yes," I agreed, smiling. "Thank you so much for bringing me here, Angel. This up here... everything... everything has been too beautiful for words. Thank you..."

He pressed a warm kiss to my forehead. "You're welcome, love. It was my pleasure. And I mean it - we will do this again, and very soon."

Comforted by that promise and softened by his kiss, I closed my eyes as he banked left and soared back the way we'd come. I buried my face in his deerskin vest to hide from the wind, and everything inside of me stilled.

I fell asleep as we flew through the night.


	9. Truth And Dare

I woke up alone.

Staring at the cave ceiling, covered by a heavy fur blanket, I realized dimly that I was sleeping on the bed in the bedroom. I never slept there — not on purpose. Perhaps I'd been sleepwalking and ended up here after the Christmas party ended.

As I recalled the events of the past several hours, intense emotion swept through me: Angel crashing out of the sky, being pulled back from the cold clutches of death, taking me on an unforgettable flight into the realm of stars and Northern Lights... It had all been so real, so very real. I could still feel the strength of his arms around me, the dizzying glamor of his smile, the way my heart quickened when his blue eyes met mine, the burning mark of his kiss on my forehead...

Then again, my dreams had been more vivid ever since my hallucination-haunted days in the Calormene Desert. It wasn't the first time I'd confused reality with dream.

Pain swelled in my chest. It had all been a dream.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow. Hot tears burned my eyes. A sob escaped me, then another... and another. I'd always said that dreaming was better than not dreaming at all, but when faced with a reality that had been nothing more than dream, the agony of waking in a world without Angel made me reconsider my own philosophy. They were noble words, but that's all they were — words. Just empty words.

"Violar?"

I yanked my face out of the pillow and stared at the doorway through tearstained vision. Angel stood there with a towel in his hands, looking concerned.

I groaned. "Just go away," I muttered, flopping miserably onto my opposite side.

Stunned silence reigned. Then the vision in the doorway spoke again. "I... I... Are you sure?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "I think I'm losing my mind."

The voice sounded hurt and confused. "Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said?"

I pushed myself onto my elbows and brushed the hair out of my face, studying him closely. Was it possible? Dare I hope? The emotion roiling through my Danger Sense felt...

"Are you real?" I blurted.

"Am I—?" He looked at me warily. "You're in a very strange mood this morning, Violar."

"I'm serious, Angel." Shoving back the covers, I swung my stockinged feet to the floor and padded up to him. Fluttering his wings nervously, he took several steps back, giving me a wary sideways look. Before he could stop me, I seized him by the wrist. Solid flesh and bone filled my palm. His skin felt warm to the touch, and his strong pulse throbbed beneath my fingers.

Worried blue eyes captured my heart and squeezed it with painful relief. I released his wrist and threw my arms around him, ignoring the spike of alarm in my Danger Sense.

"You _are_ real," I breathed, holding him tightly.

"What the—?" Taking me by the shoulders, Angel firmly pulled me away from him and held me at arm's length. "What's going on?"

Before I could stop myself, I burst into tears and hysterical laughter. My knees turned to water, and if Angel hadn't been supporting me, I'd have collapsed at his feet.

Alarm escalated to real fright. He gave me a quick shake. "Violar, what's wrong with you?"

I choked past uncontrollable giggles. "I'm sorry, Angel. I'm really sorry—"

His eyebrows snapped together. "If you don't tell me what's going on—"

"Give me a-a second, Angel. I can explain..." Forcing down two quick gulps of air, I laid a placating hand against his chest and spoke calmly. "I thought e-everything was a dream... That y-you were just a dream."

"Uh huh." Angel narrowed his eyes. "Are you awake now?"

"Yes... Yes..." Sobs clogged my throat, and I lurched forward to hug him again. "Please... I'm sorry... Please don't let go of me..."

Confusion swirled through my Danger Sense, but his arms closed around me as I cried against his chest. He tentatively rubbed my back, and his other hand stroked lightly at my hair. I let his presence flood my Danger Sense within and his embrace warm me without, and everything inside of me stilled. I stood there with my eyes closed, just breathing... in and out, in and out, in such a peaceful rhythm that — combined with the gentle way he stroked my hair — it nearly put me to sleep all over again.

When dignity got the better of me, I straightened up and stepped back. Angel released me and studied me with open concern.

"You alright now?" he asked.

I nodded, self-consciously brushing away tears. "Yes. I'm so sorry, Angel. You don't know what it's been like here... What my life has been like."

A wave of kindness cooled my Danger Sense. His fingers closed over mine, smoothing over the tear tracks on my cheek, and I looked up to find him smiling gently. "You don't know what mine has been like, either," he pointed out, and the returning sparkle in his blue eyes warmed my heart.

"Let's remedy that," I said impulsively.

"Okay, as long as you're back to, well, normal. That was a little weird."

I blushed. "Sorry, Angel."

"Don't mention it. I was beginning to think you'd been out here in the woods for too long and had lost your sanity."

An embarrassed giggle escaped me. "You wouldn't have been far off the mark," I answered, venturing a grin. Still hand in hand, I led him toward the living room. "When I woke up, I had the same thought. Why don't I make us some breakfast?"

"Sounds great. I'm starving."

"Me too. Want some coffee?"

"You have coffee in this place?"

I laughed. "You'd be surprised what I've been able to hoard," I responded, my good humor returning with remarkable swiftness. It was so good to have Angel for company. I moved toward the stove, picked up a couple of pans, and held them up to prove my point.

"Not as surprised as you'd think." His boyish grin made me laugh even before he went on. "I got into your stash of towels and tried out the sink — I hope you don't mind. I was overdue for a bath."

Color crept into my cheeks. Angel so easily made himself at home, and I liked the unselfconscious way he invaded my space.

"Not at all," I backtracked. "I'm really glad you like it. The water had to have been a little cold..."

"Like liquid ice from the spigot," he averred.

"I hope it wasn't too cold," I went on, returning the smile because I couldn't help myself. "I find it rather invigorating in the mornings."

"Very invigorating," he agreed, his smile widening.

A rush of heat flashed through my nerves, and I had to turn away from that heartbreaking smile. It had a devastating impact on my pulse, and already I'd forgotten what I was doing.

My gaze fell on the pans hanging from each hand. Breakfast. That's right, I'd been making breakfast.

"I-I'm glad you like it," I managed, placing both pans on the hearth and opening the stove to throw in another log or two. "Is there... anything else you'd like?"

"Yes, actually, there is."

I caught my breath. The slight deepening of his tone had a terrible influence on me. It felt so personal... so intimate, as if the words were an invisible caress. A log trembled in my hands, and I forcibly steadied it and made myself finish the task before I straightened up and faced him with a polite expression. "Oh yes? And what might that be?"

"Well, if it isn't too much trouble..." Angel's smile grew sheepish. "I wondered if you had a razor I could borrow."

I blinked. "A razor?"

"Yeah. You know." He rubbed a hand over his cheek, and I could hear a faint rasp against his palm. "I'm getting a little scruffy today, but I don't know if you have a razor handy. Do centaurs even need to shave their legs?"

Nervous laughter choked from me. "I... I beg your pardon?"

"I know." He chuckled with a dismissive wave. "That was a rather personal thing to ask, wasn't it? Never mind... Just forget I mentioned it. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I just wondered if I could shave."

"O-of course," I stammered. "You'll find a razor under the washcloth on the... er..." I trailed off uneasily, then shyly added, "On the edge of the tub."

A knowing look sparked in Angel's blue eyes, and he quickly averted his gaze. "Thanks. By the way, you really went all-out designing this bathroom. I can hardly believe you piped running water in there. How'd you manage all that?"

Glad for the topic shift, I eagerly shared. "I found all the pipes in the junkyard, along with an old sink and the large tub. Same with the mismatched collection of medicine cabinets on the wall, the two mirrors, and the towel racks. Bringing all those items here was a monumental challenge, as you might suppose, but I had the time on my hands. I ran the pipes through the walls and upward into trenches that led to a mountain stream. The water is very cold, but because the stream never freezes, I always have running water — so long as I keep the pipes warm. Did you notice the large metal container atop the stove near the tub?" When he nodded, I explained, "It's there to act as a hot water heater. If you'd like a hot bath, I'll build a fire under the container and heat up the water for you."

Angel raised his eyebrows, taking all that in. "Very ingenious," he said at last.

I smiled softly. "I'm just happy to share it with someone besides myself. Please, go and shave, and I'll have breakfast ready for you when you return. We have so much to talk about."

"Yes we do," he agreed, tossing me another grin as he disappeared behind another deerskin curtain that now separated the bathroom from the rest of the cave. I'd hung the curtain only the morning before.

I paused long enough to gather my wits. I felt tingly all over: alive, filled with purpose, and — wonder of wonders — joyful. Then I wasted no time in brewing a pot of coffee and cooking two enormous omelettes, humming snatches of old tunes under my breath — a habit I'd acquired to entertain myself on lonely mornings. But this morning, I was no longer alone. The splashing of water and the flapping of huge wings in the next room proved that.

It called for a celebration.

"Breakfast is ready!" I called in the direction of the bathroom. The announcement made me giddy.

"Be out in a minute!" came the reply.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, smothering a wild giggle. Then I leapt into action. A pair of small wooden footstools became a low table near the hearth, each set with an omelette on a plate and silverware on faded green silk napkins. Large folded deerskins served as exquisitely soft cushions on the hard, rug-covered floor. I was just pouring coffee when the deerskin swept back and Angel appeared, all fresh and clean and smooth-shaven; dressed in a white long-sleeved dress shirt and jeans with his damp white feathers spreading behind him.

I straightened up and greeted him with a smile. Then we both spoke at once.

"Angel, you look—"

"Violar, this looks—"

We broke off laughing. Angel took the pot from my hands and placed it back on the stove, then gestured to the deerskins. "Let's eat this before it gets cold. How many eggs are in these omelettes, anyway?"

"Five each," I replied, grinning.

"Five! Leave it to a centaur to make a world-class omelette. What's in it?"

I flushed, suddenly warm all over. "Shredded venison, chopped tomatoes, onions, mushrooms — and don't worry, I am well-versed on the safest varieties of mushrooms to gather from the woods," I was quick to assure him. "And some cheese. Cheddar, I think. And salt, pepper, and a touch of garlic."

"Oh man." He gulped. "Let's dig in. Want to say grace?" He held out his hand for mine.

Pleased beyond all reason that he'd remembered my habit of praying before meals, I offered him a glowing smile as I slid my palm across his.

"Dear Aslan," I breathed, and then I gave in to laughter. My heart felt lighter than one of Angel's feathers — so light that I couldn't pray in words. I could only laugh. Joy bubbled inside of me and spilled over, and when I looked across the footstool tables at Angel, the radiant shimmer in his blue eyes proved that I wasn't the only one.

"Thank you," I managed at last, gazing heavenward through a sheen of tears. I drew a deep breath. "Oh, Aslan, thank you so much. Amen."

There was no more to say. I squeezed Angel's hand, and we dug in with gusto. He sampled the coffee, moaned with delight, and swallowed another mouthful.

"How'd you brew that?" he wondered, nodding at his mug.

"The coffee? Easy. I boiled water with a handful of coffee grounds, then strained the grounds through a cloth. Viola."

"Man." He stared reverently at his mug. "It's better than the stuff that comes out of ordinary coffeepots."

I couldn't stop smiling. "Would you like milk or sugar? I have limited supplies of both."

"No thanks, I like it black. This is delicious."

I had to agree. In the days of Starbucks and Xavier's kitchens, I'd liked my coffee softened up with cream and sugar, but rationed quantities had taught me — over time — to enjoy black coffee, albeit a relatively weak brew. I lifted my mug with a meaningful glance at Angel, and he immediately copied me.

"To... freedom," he decided.

"Freedom," I agreed. "And friendship."

Our mugs clinked. We downed coffee, then devoured breakfast like only two famished mutants could. Once we'd cleared our plates, we sat back in companionable silence, watching the flames dance in the stove. Pleasant warmth that had little to do with the fire gathered inside of me. Minutes passed, but the passage of time melted to a standstill. Minutes no longer mattered. This moment, however, meant everything.

Angel leaned back first, sighed deeply, then reached for one of the footstools. "Why don't we—"

"Great idea," I seconded, rising immediately. "I'll clear the dishes."

He chuckled, waiting until I'd lifted a plate before shifting the footstool aside. "I like the way you do that, V."

I looked at him, puzzled — and mesmerized by the gemstone color of his blue eyes. "Do what?"

"Finish my sentences as if you can read my thoughts."

I blushed. "I can't read your thoughts, Angel."

"That's what makes it so remarkable."

My blush deepened. I picked up the second plate, but I couldn't resist smiling at him. "I'm grateful that you like it, because I can't help it. It's my Danger Sense, you know. It's often vague, but I can actually pick up on your shifting emotions. Interpreting those shifts takes time and practice."

"And intuition, too," said Angel, his voice deep with admiration.

I had to turn away, biting my lip. "I do my best," I heard myself say in a voice that wasn't my own.

My Danger Sense stirred, but Angel let me go without further comment. I took care to store each ingredient I'd used for breakfast — from tomatoes to mushrooms — as every ounce of food was too precious to lose. I covered the cheese block with a cloth to prevent it from drying out, and I packed each item into a basket, which I would carry into the cellar later.

Then I turned my attention to the dishes, sloshing ice-cold water over the plates and forks with a washcloth. I stole glances over my shoulder while I worked and found Angel creating a cozy pile of beat-up cushions and animal furs near the fireplace. By the time I finished my chores, I had to pause and survey the living room — my living room. Warmth stole over me like a thick mantle: It felt so… foreign, so sweetly foreign, to have someone looking after me.

Like a guardian angel.

When the last pillow was in place, Angel reclined casually on one elbow and stretched his legs toward the fire — the very picture of masculine contentment. His huge wings draped across my floor. I clasped my hands self-consciously as he swept an arm forward.

"Come here, V."

The rough-tender quality of his voice shook the fortress around my heart. For a moment, I couldn't move. I was vulnerable, and what frightened me was that it _didn't_ frighten me. I had to remind myself that, long ago, Angel had chosen another woman over me. A sharp pang pierced my heart. I grasped that pain and clung to it, letting it strengthen my resolve, before I dared move forward again. As I swept up my skirt and sank into the cushions, tucking my legs beneath me, I looked over and found Angel studying me with puzzled fascination.

"You are a remarkable woman, Violar," he said with a slow shake of his head.

I ducked his gaze. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you are so… stubborn."

Surprise sent my eyes darting back to his. "What leads you to that conclusion?"

He chuckled. "Isn't it obvious? You are full of secrets. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of those secrets, and then your guard goes back up. And it's not fair."

Bewilderment took me by storm. "You speak in more riddles than the centaurs of the Council Ring. Pray tell, what isn't fair?"

He caught me by the wrist, snaring my full attention. "That you have a Danger Sense, and I don't."

I gulped and sat up straighter. Pride kept me from pulling my hand away, but my nervous gaze skidded toward the fireplace. "I cannot see how that would put you at a disadvantage," I countered with artificial calm. "You don't need a Danger Sense. You're intuitive enough without it."

"Not with you, I'm not."

I managed a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous—"

I broke off with a sharp gasp when Angel slid two fingers beneath my sleeve, gliding upward from my inner wrist along my forearm. Shockwaves rushed through my whole body. My wide eyes skated back to his, and I couldn't hide the fact that I was trembling all over — even though he'd stopped before he reached my elbow.

"I have to use other methods to figure you out," said Angel, a teasing smile playing about his lips that belied the more dangerous smolder in his blue eyes.

Fear coursed through me, battling the blood that pounded in my ears. "What are you doing?" I whispered, hating the small, shaky sound of my own voice.

"Using other methods to figure you out," he replied, lifting his other hand to my cheek.

"Why… why don't you just ask questions?" I persisted, paralyzed.

"Because you dodge the answers."

Hot tears blurred the corners of my vision, and I blinked them away. I turned my cheek aside. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He tilted his head, smiling. His fingers curved around my forearm, exerting the gentlest downward pressure and drawing me toward his chest. "Don't you?"

To my shock and fright, I gave way to the pull. That scared me clear through.

"Stop this," I begged, forcing my gaze from the compelling blue depths of his. Freezing cold surged through my veins. "For the love of Aslan, please, stop this."

He hesitated. Then his hand released my arm. I yanked it close and huddled into myself, trying to ignore the burning skin on my forearm — as if he'd branded me with his touch. Forcing my nerves to cease their electric quivering, I stiffened my shoulders and lifted my chin, staring straight ahead.

"And there, just like that, I've lost you again."

I risked a glance at Angel. He was no longer smiling, and the disappointment I expected to find on his face wasn't there. He looked at me steadily — knowingly.

I searched my Danger Sense for clues and came up with broken pieces of a puzzle. "W-what else did you expect?"

Wry amusement crossed his features, then melted into resignation. "You did exactly what I thought you'd do — the same thing you did two years ago."

I stared at him, not comprehending. "What?"

"You pulled away from me."

I sat back, smoothing the skirt over my folded legs and frowning a little. "Why does that surprise you? I'm not… I don't want to be…" I shook my head, searching for the right words.

"Yeah, I get that," Angel interrupted, holding up a hand. "But I have no intention of seducing you."

A heated flush stained my cheeks, and I turned away, not wanting him to see it. "Apparently you never have," I muttered, going on the attack.

"Does that bother you?"

"Why should it?" I demanded suddenly, whirling to glare at him. "Does it bother _you_ that a woman can resist you? Does it bother you that I just want to be your friend, nothing more?"

He shook his head, his eyes on mine. "Come now, Violar. I think you and I both know that's bologna."

I raised my eyebrows challengingly. "For someone who doesn't have a Danger Sense, you presume an awful lot."

"I don't need a Danger Sense to tell me that those marks you scratched into the wall mean as much to you today as they did two years ago."

I caught my breath and stared at him warily. Angel gazed back, his blue eyes sure and steady — and sincere. That look gave me pause. Then I drew a slow, deliberate breath.

"What does it matter if they do," I answered quietly. It wasn't a question. "As they say in your world, it takes two to tango."

The confession jarred me. I hadn't meant to say so much. I bit my lip, but Angel smiled — a regretful smile, I thought — and took one of my hands in his.

"I know." He studied my hand, running his thumb along my tightly-clenched fingers. "I know, and I'm sorry, V. I've had… a lot of time to reflect on things. Nine or ten months, actually, by your calendar."

I looked at him curiously. "Nine or ten months? That's… I think that's longer than I've been here." His gaze met mine, and suddenly I understood. "Oh, by the mane… That's why you weren't around. No one knew where you were. You disappeared…"

My fragile hold on tumultuous emotions slipped. I ducked beneath the crushing weight of a harsh sob. I heard Angel shift on the cushions, and the next thing I knew, he'd drawn me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder.

"I thought you were angry with me," I choked out.

The weight of his cheek pressed into my hair, and his hand curved around the nape of my neck. "No. I was mad at God, if you must know. My gifts have been curses — all of them."

"No," I pleaded between sniffles. "I never meant… what I said…"

"Shh," he soothed, rocking me gently. Tension ebbed out of me as I swayed with him. "It wasn't your fault, V. You were in shock."

"That's… no excuse," I muttered against his shirtfront.

His lips pressed close to my ear. "Hear me out, Violar," he whispered. "You only echoed what I already knew."

"But I was wrong—"

"Whether you were wrong or not," Angel interrupted, his fingers drifting slowly along my neck, "didn't matter. What matters is what I already believe. It was like being faced with a mirror I'd deliberately been avoiding. Nothing you said changed anything for me."

I muffled a sob against his chest. "I'm so sorry..."

Angel was quiet for a little while. His hand stroked through my hair, then came back to my neck. "I forgive you, Violar."

A deep sigh escaped me, and I closed my eyes. "Thank you."

Angel pulled me closer. "Don't mention it."

The familiar expression made me smile. I'd missed it so much. When I relaxed, a wave of sweetness poured over my Danger Sense. I nosed into his shirt, more peaceful than I had felt in a long time. And Angel smelled good — wild and earthy, whipped clean and fresh by the sky he'd fallen out of.

"Tell me what happened, Angel," I encouraged presently, lifting a hand to his opposite shoulder.

"When?"

"After you left the mansion."

Lead settled into my Danger Sense. I worked the material of his shirt between my fingers, then looked up at him. Angel met my gaze and winced.

"It's better off forgotten," he said gravely. "Suffice it to say that the last couple of days have made me feel like a man freed from prison. I won't equate myself to a bird let out of a cage," he added with a rueful grin. One of his wings fluttered self-consciously against his back. "Even if that does accurately describe how I feel."

I searched his hardened features, noting the muscle that ticked over his jaw. Whatever he'd experienced had brought him a great deal of pain, but it had changed him, too — for the better, I thought. Judging by the fact that he'd been clean-shaven when he tumbled out of the sky, his captors hadn't locked him in a dungeon and left him there. Even his thick blond hair, while longer than I'd remembered, was neatly trimmed. That puzzled me.

He looked down at me, and a sudden smile illuminated his features. "You have beautiful eyes, Violar."

I blushed and half-hid against his shoulder, my fingers pulling and smoothing at his shirt. "So do you, Angel."

His grin turned boyish. "I can't claim responsibility for turning them your favorite color — though I would have if I could have, believe me."

I gazed up at him in wonder. "You remember my favorite color?"

"Blue, yeah. Kinda hard to forget," he said with a short laugh.

"What's your favorite color, Angel? I know your old wardrobe consisted of blue and burgundy, and a lot of it, but I never had a chance to ask you what your favorite color was."

His expression grew wistful. "I miss that wardrobe, to be honest. I had a lot of good stuff in it. Anyway, my favorite color... Tough to say, really. I like a lot of different colors. But I am partial to the way the sky turns bright gold at sunset."

"Yellow gold or orange gold?"

"Yellow gold," was his immediate reply. "Dazzling, blinding, glittering yellow gold."

"Well, I'm not blinding or anything," I said playfully, "but I _am_ palomino."

He grinned. "I noticed that. Not blinding, perhaps, but certainly dazzling."

Laughing, I sat up on my own, and Angel released me. I rubbed the lingering dampness from my heated cheeks, then gave Angel a warm smile.

"You look different," he observed, leaning closer to me. "Even younger and more radiant, as if a huge burden has lifted off of you."

I breathed a deep sigh, then reached over and touched his shoulder. "It has," I answered seriously. "I needed so much to tell you that I never meant a word I said on that rooftop, Angel. I relived that moment thousands of times, wishing desperately for a way to go back in time and take back those terrible accusations. I thought I'd never have that opportunity. You flew away from Xavier's, and you didn't come back. Then I slipped through this crack in time, and I couldn't find my way home. I was so utterly alone. I begged and pleaded with Aslan for months that I would have a chance, just one chance, to make things right with you. Gradually I lost hope," I added, my smile fading. "I was just a forgotten castaway. I thought that perhaps I'd made such a terrible mistake that even Aslan had abandoned me. Eventually I stopped talking to him altogether until... until Christmas. And then he gave me you."

Angel took my hand from his shoulder and held it between both of his, looking earnestly into my eyes. "I had a habit of running away, Violar. I won't lie. My punishment for running away was that I ended up here."

"Mine too," I breathed, realizing that Angel's path and mine paralleled one another.

He nodded. "I know. And that's why this conversation is vitally important. We've barely scratched the tip of the iceberg, haven't we?"

I smiled softly. "I'm afraid that what lies before us isn't very easy, or very pleasant," I said.

"Neither you nor I are strangers to difficult and unpleasant," countered Angel. "But why don't we take a break and come back to this later?"

I brought my free hand to his cheek and smiled into his eyes. "You think of everything. Thank you, Angel."

He pressed my hand. "Don't mention it."


	10. Winter Wonderland

"Incoming!"

I squealed and ducked — too late. A snowball hit my palomino shoulder and exploded in a cloud of white pixie dust. Angel grinned like a sprite and fluttered his wings triumphantly.

"Thanks for the warning!" I shouted back, laughing.

"Better late than never!"

I giggled and quirked a mischievous eyebrow. "Warning or no warning, I claim the right of retribution."

Swooping down, I gathered two snowballs in my gloved hands. Angel took one look at me, then ran across the meadow, spread his wings, and glided toward a stand of snow-covered trees. He landed on his feet and took cover amid the tree trunks. Grinning, I set aside the two snowballs and quickly packed two more. And then two more.

"Go ahead and stay there," I challenged gleefully, stacking my snowballs into a pyramid. "The longer you hide, the more ammunition I'll accumulate. I know your greatest weakness — your incredible appetite. Hunger will drive you out sooner or later, and then I shall have my revenge."

Angel laughed. "You underestimate your adversary, Violar," he warned.

"We shall see who has done the underestimating," I flung back. "Are you coming out, or are you content to watch me build an arsenal?"

Angel was silent. I caught a glimpse of him peering around a white birch tree, and then he ducked out of sight. My pyramid rapidly expanded and grew taller. Suddenly my Danger Sense tingled, and I immediately seized two snowballs and tensed, preparing for an attack.

Angel burst from the trees and flared his magnificent wings, coming straight at me with incredible speed. Before I could marvel at what a breathtaking vision he was, flying low and swift across the dazzling winter landscape like an avenging angel, he raised his gloved hands. He held two snowballs.

"Incoming!" he yelled again, laughing.

I braced my hooves and stood firm until the last possible second. Then I threw both snowballs at him. He swerved. One missed; the other shattered against his wing. Butterflies exploded in my stomachs as I whirled and galloped off with Angel right on my tail. I dodged left and right, but I couldn't shake him. I felt both snowballs hit my back, and I giggled uncontrollably.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Angel wheel and swoop down on my abandoned pyramid.

"Why, you gryphon!" I shouted, skidding in the snow and creating twin roostertails in my wake. I leaned down and snatched two handfuls of snow as I broke into a gallop and charged. "You thief! You'll not take my snowballs without a fight!"

His boyish laughter was contagious as he plucked two snowballs off the top and flapped his wings, ascending rapidly — then looping around and rocketing toward me. I planted my hooves and careened to a halt, standing my ground as he dropped out of the blue sky. From somewhere in my memory, a half-forgotten New York term surfaced, and I grinned.

"Anti-aircraft fire!" I called, hurling both snowballs at him. Both found their mark, hitting him squarely in the chest. It didn't slow him down.

I dove sideways and broke into a gallop, but Angel banked as if he'd anticipated my move.

"Air raid!" he hollered above me. "Bombs away!"

I swerved wildly, but the two snowballs pelted my broad palomino back. Giggling madly, I pounded toward the pyramid for all I was worth. At the last second, I leapt high into the air, slapped my sapphire choker, and landed on my knees beside all the snowballs.

"Fire at will!" I yelled, digging in. Angel's airspace was suddenly riddled with snowball hail. Every evasive maneuver he employed only crashed him into the path of my well-aimed snowballs until he was forced to retreat. I stood up, grinning from ear to ear as he flew away, and Angel's laughter filled the winter air with pure joy. He came about, flared his wings, and landed a safe distance from me — well out of range. With a sweep of one arm, he bowed low to me.

"I concede victory," he declared.

I placed my hands on my hips, smiling and flushed. "Do you really think you shall escape the war so easily?"

That startled his eyebrows into his hairline. He laughed again. "You know, I almost feel bad for your neevil enemies in Narnia. They never had a chance—"

I broke into a run, charging straight toward him. With a cry of surprise, Angel nearly fell backwards and threw out his wings for balance. His arms pinwheeled and his legs churned in the snow as he spun around and ran for all he was worth. We dashed across the meadow, laughing like foals. Then he spread his wings, flapped hard, and flew out of reach.

"Not fair!" I called out, grinning.

"I value my life!" he shouted back, circling overhead. His smile fell on me like sunlight.

I watched him until my heart reached the bursting point, and then I had to look away. My gaze fell on a piece of wood protruding from the snow. I stared at it curiously, then approached it. I fell to my knees and dug away the snow.

"Hey, Angel," I called. "Look what I found."

"Is this some kind of trick?"

I glanced over my shoulder and found him still smiling at me. I couldn't help smiling back. It was so good to see him happy. And in that moment — flying in lazy circles, playing in the snow with childish abandon; free to chase the wind — he was.

"It's no trick," I responded. I raised my right hand. "On my honor. Come and see."

He spun out of the sky and landed next to me, then crouched down to my level. "What is it, Violar?"

The way he said my name caused my pulse to quicken. On impulse, I gently brushed snow off his shoulder and smiled into his blue eyes before answering.

"It's a sled — at least I think it can be used as one. See?"

Turning, I pulled the large piece of wood out of the snow. It had once belonged to a fallen log, as far as I could tell. The remaining chunk had a slightly rounded boat-like hull and a splintery interior, but it wasn't very heavy. I presented my find to Angel, holding it out for his inspection.

"Hey, wow," he murmured, running a gloved hand over the bark. "Very nice. We won't be able to steer it, but if we find a good hill, we won't need to. Want to try it out?"

"Yes please," I instantly agreed.

We rose at the same moment.

"Alright. Prepare for liftoff."

So saying, he swept me into his arms before I could draw breath. Then we were airborne, sailing high over the trees. I clutched the wooden sled as Angel held me close. Belatedly I uttered a soft laugh, but I wasn't afraid. Angel wouldn't let me fall. I had complete faith in him — complete _trust_.

His cheek pressed against my hair. "Do you see a likely hill?"

I blinked, then looked down without moving my head away from his. After a moment, I pointed. "That one. It has a good slope on the northwest side."

"That one it is."

Angel banked and wheeled, and we glided in for an easy landing atop the hill crest. Angel set me gently on my feet, and I breathed a little sigh without moving away from him. Some kind of miracle had occurred. I didn't want to leave his presence. Warm emotion washed through me, and I felt only enraptured contentment.

He studied my face. "What is it, Violar?"

I brought my gaze to his and smiled.

"It's just... Everything is perfect," I answered, unsure of how else to put my feelings into words. "I love flying, and we're playing in the snow, and... and you're here, against all odds. Everything is perfect."

He stepped closer, and my heart beat against my chest as if demanding escape. As if in slow motion, I saw him lift his hand to my chin, drawing my face toward his. The blue of his eyes outshone the skies as he looked deep into mine.

"Perfect," he echoed, his soft voice full and resonant. The backs of his fingers stroked along my cheek. "That's exactly how I feel."

I didn't move. He leaned closer, and my eyes drifted shut. I sensed the slightest hesitation in my Danger Sense, and then he pressed a lingering kiss to the bridge of my nose.

He could have kissed me, perhaps even sought to charm me into his spell; and he chose not to — for my sake, not his. Respect held him back.

Relief and gratitude took me by storm. Such intense emotion swept through my whole body that it left me weak. The sled dropped into the snow, and I fell against Angel. He wrapped strong arms around me and held me close, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," I whispered.

His face turned toward mine, though I never saw it. His breath fell on my face. My eyes remained closed.

"Don't mention it."

We stood there for an eternity — two lost souls on a windswept hill, holding each other; healing together. Everything around us melted away. Everything inside of me stilled. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been that secure, that content — and my contentment alone wasn't responsible. Angel's contentment mingled with mine, flooding my Danger Sense like a river of warm honey.

I could have stayed there forever.

Angel rubbed my back with a firm, gentle touch. "Want to try out the sled?" he wondered presently.

"Mmm." I nodded, in case my groaning response didn't sound enough like an affirmative answer, but I didn't move. My breathing had fallen into such a deep, even rhythm that I could have gone to sleep out of sheer peace and serenity.

I felt Angel smile. He kissed my forehead, then waited until I stirred before slowly releasing me from his arms. When I opened my eyes, I smiled back at him.

"Ladies first," he invited. "You found the sled, after all. And the hill."

"Ah, yes, I did." It felt strange to speak, as if familiar words had turned into a foreign language. But I offered another smile. "Thank you, Angel."

I bent down and picked up the sled. It felt heavier now; my arms were still weak from emotion. I breathed deeply of the cold air until I began to feel more normal.

"Stay to the right side of the slope," Angel advised. "There are some snowy bumps to the left, and they might throw you toward those trees over there." He pointed to a group of trunks protruding from the snow-covered hill on the left side.

I smiled at him and pointed my sled to the right. "Want to give me a push?"

"You bet."

I climbed onto the sled, cautiously bracing my boots against the prow. My hands gripped the sides. Angel crouched behind me, gently holding my shoulders to keep me steady.

"Ready?"

"Yes. Let's do this."

He braced his hands against my upper back and shoved. The sled inched down the hill, grinding through the powder, until gravity caught its nose and pulled it forward. Instantly the sled picked up momentum, rushing downhill in a wave of snow, and I squealed with delight.

An invisible force caught the nose of my sled. It swerved to the left on its own, hit a bump, went airborne, and careened sideways. Choking down a cry, I threw my weight to the right, struggling to bring it back under control. Angel shouted something behind me. The sled skidded further to the left and raced straight toward the trees. One large trunk loomed ahead of me.

At the last second, I jumped. I landed on hard, suffocating whiteness. The snow felt like cement grinding across my face and wrists as I hurtled downhill, plowing snow with my jacket. I crashed through winter bushes and scraped past a tree before I tumbled to a stop.

I groaned. Everything hurt, and I couldn't tell whether I'd broken bones or merely sustained bruises. Suddenly Angel was beside me, picking me out of the snow and turning me carefully onto my back.

"Violar, are you okay?"

I grimaced and nodded. "Yes... Did... did the sled survive?"

"Did the—" Angel managed a strained, incredulous laugh and dropped down to sit in the snow. With tiny strokes of his fingers, he brushed the lingering snow from my nose and cheeks. "God, Violar, you are a crazy woman. It's smashed to splinters, and if it weren't, I'd smash it myself. You didn't see how awful that accident looked. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes..." Awkwardly I reached toward my left sleeve and tried to dig compacted snow out of it. "I don't know what happened..."

Angel yanked off his glove and took my hand in his, stilling it.

"You're bleeding." Ever so gently, Angel worked his fingers into my sleeve, chipping harsh ice away from my skin. The white chunks came away with pink and red stains. Angel hesitated, then pulled at something buried in my wrist. Pain shot through my arm, and I cried out. He held up the culprit — a little branch loaded with sharp thorns.

The sight of it made me grimace. "I must have picked it up when I went through the bushes... No wonder it hurts."

Angel took one look at my face, then tugged off my glove and studied my wrist. "The gash is pretty deep. And it's not sealing up."

Trying to hide the pain, I nodded. "That's normal. I—"

Without warning, Angel lifted the branch and raked the thorns across his own wrist. I gasped in horrified shock, then uttered a breathless cry when Angel pressed his wounded wrist to mine.

A lightning bolt slammed through my nerves, and my eyes flew to his. Angel's jaw tightened, and he didn't look at me. He used his free hand to hold our wrists together. I swallowed hard, breathing swift and shallow. Wildfire jolted my Danger Sense, and I knew: Angel felt it also.

As if the effort were painful, Angel dragged his blue gaze to mine. Time stopped. The throbbing in my wrist receded into the background. It was all I could do to breathe.

"Better?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Yes," I whispered, never taking my eyes from his electric gaze. I couldn't look away. I didn't _want_ to look away. Slowly I became aware that Angel was leaning over me, and the snow beneath my back felt like a bed of hot coals. I gulped. "Thank you."

Angel nodded, his eyes on mine. "Why didn't it seal?"

It was a struggle to think, let alone comprehend. "What?"

"Your wrist," he clarified with obvious difficulty. "Why didn't it seal?"

Confused, I frowned up at him. "Why should it?"

"Because you should have healing blood."

"I don't. Why do you say that?"

"If you don't have healing blood, how did you heal me?"

I stared at him, startled — then completely baffled. Why hadn't I thought of that before? I didn't have healing blood — not on my own. If I suffered an injury, it took days to repair itself. For some time after Angel had rescued me from the brink of death, my body felt healthier and stronger, and little cuts and nicks vanished within minutes. But the extraordinary phenomenon had gradually receded into normality.

"I-I don't know," I stammered, uncertain.

"Why did you take the chance the other night, when my life was on the line?"

Shaking my head slowly, I turned my head away, staring at our wrists instead. "I don't know. I'd run out of options... I wondered if maybe, just maybe, a little of your healing powers still tainted my blood, and that it would somehow awaken the dormant healing properties in yours."

"It doesn't work that way."

His fingertips touched my cheek. Another gasp escaped me, and I felt him tremble as he slowly traced the delicate lines of my cheek and jaw. I whimpered dizzily, then bit my lip.

"I've been wondering," said Angel, his full concentration on my face.

I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. Heat scorched my suddenly hypersensitive nerves. "W-wondering... what?"

"Wondering if maybe... your blood interacts positively with mine."

I made the mistake of looking at him then. His eyes burned like blue hurricanes, sending sparks across my raw senses. I swallowed hard and averted my gaze again. "Who knows. I-I think our wrists are sealed up by now."

Angel lifted his wrist from mine, and I clenched my fist. Sure enough, the only remaining evidence — a faint pink line on each of our wrists — was fading fast.

Angel gathered a handful of snow and held it in his palm until it melted into water, and he washed the remaining blood from my skin with heartbreaking tenderness. Tears blurred the corners of my vision. His velvet touch hurt worse than the thorns. Hastily I blinked away the urge to cry.

"There. All better," he announced finally, using his sleeve to dry my wrist.

I tried to sit up, but Angel placed a gentle hand on my shoulder to keep me down. And I didn't fight it. He lifted my chin, bringing my skittish gaze back to his.

"Violar."

I gulped and fought with all my might to remain calm — rational. "Yes?"

"Do you think..." Angel paused, and I realized I had never seen him at a loss for words before. Not like this. "I hope it doesn't sound corny or anything, but I think you'll get what I mean. Remember what you told me a long time ago, about settling for oases and waiting for paradise?"

I could hardly manage an answer. "Yes."

His hand grasped mine, and wild hope stirred in my Danger Sense. "Do you think that... that some people are... made for each other?"

I grimaced and looked away, not wanting to see his expression when I spoke. "I don't think it's that simple."

His hand jerked against mine, but he didn't pull away. "How so? I mean, what exactly do you mean?"

I hesitated long enough to add a fresh layer of steel to my overwrought nerves. "I mean," I answered carefully, "that... some people aren't willing to settle for anything less than paradise. Those people give up everything to obtain it, and..."

Pain exploded in my chest. Pushing away his hands, I sat up, climbed to my feet, and plowed unsteadily to the top of the hill. I was grateful for the deep snowdrifts to mask the difficulty I had with merely walking in a straight line. The winter landscape melted into gray watercolors behind my tears.

"Violar, wait!"

I stopped in my tracks, looking resolutely away. But by the time Angel caught up with me, I could no longer hide the fact that I was crying.

"Violar." He gripped my shoulders briefly, then took my face in his hands. "Violar, what's wrong?"

The knot lodged in my throat prevented an answer. I stood there with my eyes half-closed, choking back sniffles, shaking all over.

"Violar..."

Suddenly I found myself wrapped tightly in an embrace. I buried my face in his shoulder and let the tears cascade down as he rubbed my back. Desperation to comfort me swamped my Danger Sense.

"Violar, please... you can tell me," Angel cajoled in his gentle manner — which I wasn't proof against at that moment any more than I had been in the past. "Don't be afraid. You can tell me anything. I want to know... I really want to know."

"You read the writing on the wall," I managed. "You already know—"

"No, no, I don't. Violar..." His hand cupped the back of my head in an earnest manner. "I'd read a couple lines before I realized that I was intruding on a personal diary. Then I read a little more than half of it before my conscience got the better of my curiosity. I might have continued reading if you hadn't awakened when you did. But words on a wall aren't enough. I want to hear what happened from you." He hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry I read so much, Violar."

I pulled my face free of his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."

"You keep saying that, as if you want to carry some kind of burden on your own over this," said Angel.

Something about that observation was deeply depressing. "I don't know. Maybe I do."

Angel didn't answer. In the silence, I put myself back together, one piece at a time. The tears ceased flowing. Thoughts, however, remained frozen in time. I was only aware that Angel hadn't let go of me, and that the shift in the atmosphere meant another snowstorm would come upon us in a few hours, and that I was very cold — both inside and out. My heart ached. A bewildering sense of loss descended over me. The golden sunlight faded to gray as it slid behind a cloud bank, and I missed the feeble warmth of its winter rays.

"Violar." Angel's voice was as soft as one of his feathers. His cheek pressed near my temple. "I have no right to ask you to tell me anything. But I am asking."

My heart fluttered like a panicked bird in a cage. He didn't know what he was asking of me.

"The truth would only hurt you," I heard myself say.

"Who would hurt more, you or me?"

I flinched. He'd struck a nerve.

"I'm willing to listen, Violar, no matter how painful it might be," Angel said, drawing back to look at me. "After reading part of your wall, I see now what I put you through when I came to you about my problems with Thea. I should have been more sensitive, and I'm sorry I wasn't. I'm a terrible friend. At least let me return a little of the favor. It isn't much, and it won't completely make up for what I've done to you. But I'd like to try, if you'll let me."

His blue eyes sparked with intensity, and something inside of me gave way. I lowered my head.

"It's a long story," I ventured.

"You're a good storyteller, and I like long stories."

I smiled in spite of myself. "It's a _really_ long story."

"I'll take you home first."

I looked up at him for a long moment. He was serious. I couldn't fathom why he was so insistent — so insistent that he wouldn't drop the subject, as he'd been wont to do in the past for the sake of politeness. Everything inside of me quivered at the thought of taking such a drastic leap, and — deep down — I knew that if I pushed hard enough, Angel would let me be. He would respect my wishes. But if I said nothing, it would always be there between us.

At last I nodded. "Alright."

I swallowed hard. There was no turning back.

The muscles in Angel's face relaxed, and he held out his hand. "Everything will be okay," he assured me.

That sent a surge of tears to my eyes. I wanted to believe that. I _desperately_ wanted to believe that. But I didn't, and I was scared. Because after I shared my story with him, nothing would be the same between us.

I had to muster every ounce of warrior's courage I possessed just to take his hand.

Angel gently brushed the hair back from my face, and I trembled at the touch. Then he picked me up and cradled me in his arms.

"It's okay, Violar," he said again. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

I clung to that promise as we flew home.


	11. The Fireside's Blazing Bright

"You're shivering," observed Angel as he carried me through the cave doorway. "Are you cold?"

"A little," I admitted. During the last part of our flight, the clouds had thickened, and the wind picked up with it. Snow wouldn't be far behind.

But winter weather wasn't the only reason I shivered. My stomach had twisted itself into a complicated series of knots. I had a thousand reasons for facing the upcoming conversation with such trepidation — and, I was sure, I could've invented a few more reasons if pressed. I had a good idea about the questions Angel would ask me, but the answers contained truths that I'd resolved long ago never to reveal to him. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

It was too great a risk. Then again, I'd never meant to tell Angel of my past feelings for him, either. I'd carved them into the walls of my cave, expecting that no eyes but mine would read the words. At this point, too much already stood in the open. I had little choice but to tell him the rest.

That scared me clear through. I didn't like feeling cornered. Neither did I appreciate the knowledge that revealing everything would leave me nothing to hide behind — no masks, no pretenses, no carefully-worded escapes. Running away would no longer be an option. And I had survived by running away from my feelings toward Angel — until now.

"Let me bundle you up by the fire," said Angel, carrying me across the living room. He knelt down and settled me into a pile of furs and cushions, then touched my icy cheek. "If you tell me where the logs are, I'll stoke the flames. Did you want anything hot to drink?"

"Yeh-no, I don't think so," I stammered, pulling a fur over my body and hugging it close. I gestured to my left without looking at him. "The... the logs are stacked behind the Christmas tree. Thanks, Angel."

He rose and moved toward the tree, and I ventured a glance at him. To my surprise, his wings expanded and contracted nervously, occasionally quivering and smashing flat against his back. My Danger Sense churned with uneasy emotions that weren't solely my own. He wasn't looking forward to this any more than I was, I realized. I wondered why. And I wondered why he'd been so insistent on having this conversation, especially if it wouldn't be pleasant for him either.

Angel came back with an armful of split logs, and he silently tended the fire. Then he shut the stove door and sat back, a thoughtful expression tightening his features. Finally he turned to me, and I shrank back involuntary. He saw my reaction and flinched.

"I'm sorry, love." His face reflected the whirlpool of emotion in my Danger Sense — disappointment and regret among the most prominent. "Here I go again, pushing you too fast. I hate to see you looking like a scared rabbit."

It was my turn to flinch. Never in all my years had I heard a centaur referred to as a scared rabbit. In Narnia, the remark would have surely been construed as a tremendous insult. The stinger in my pride forced me to answer, though I knew not what to say. I almost assured him that the fault wasn't his, but I'd already endured a lecture on that particular subject. And I wasn't looking forward to another. My gaze shifted to his wings, which had drooped like unhappy willows in the rain.

"Give me your wing, Angel," I said instead. When he looked at me quizzically, I clarified, "Turn onto your stomach and stretch your wing this way."

Staring at me in puzzlement, Angel nevertheless did as I asked. He braced himself on his forearms and uncurled one wing, spreading it over me.

The moment I touched his wingbone with tentative fingertips, a shiver ran through Angel. He sighed deeply, then relaxed as I began to stroke the powder-soft down that coated his fine bone structure. His contentment translated straight into me, and my nerves calmed.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He glanced at me with a little smile. "I think I'm the one who should be thanking you, V. You have a really nice touch."

I flushed. "Thank you," I said again.

We both laughed. The tension in the atmosphere dissipated. Angel folded his arms and stretched his wing further, clearly enjoying the attention. I was more than happy to encourage him, running my hand in broad strokes with the direction of his feathers. I caressed his wing over and over again, feeling Angel begin to waver from side to side. Finally he groaned and flopped onto the ground, as if in surrender, and such joy burst inside of me that I couldn't contain the warmth of my grin.

"Warren Worthington," I breathed, leaning over to kiss his temple. "You are too much."

His blue eyes came open, soft and disoriented. "You know," he remarked, looking up at me, "I think that's the first time you've ever called me by my real name."

I settled back, continuing to stroke his wing. "I asked you, long ago, if you had a preference between Angel or Warren. As in all things, you didn't care. You said I could call you by any name I wished, and I chose to call you Angel."

He studied me thoughtfully, though my attentions to his feathers clearly made it difficult for him to concentrate. "Did you want me to have a preference?"

"Yes."

That intrigued him. "Why?"

"Because you weren't decisive about anything regarding yourself," I answered, looking back at him — and then glancing away. "You wanted everyone else to be happy. But for your own happiness, you cared nothing."

Slowly my Danger Sense began to stir, whirling around and around; churning faster and faster until it exploded with understanding. My gaze darted back to Angel, and I found his blue eyes staring straight into mine.

"That's why you never told me how you felt," he concluded.

I ducked my head in partial affirmation. "Though I doubt I would have come right out and told you, regardless. It isn't our way."

"But you never even hinted..."

That made me smile sheepishly. "Not for lack of trying," I replied. "Though I suppose my hints were far more subtle than... than what you were accustomed to."

My face darkened. Angel saw the change and interpreted it correctly: I was thinking of Thea.

Angel pulled his wing from my hands, and I missed the warmth of his feathers. He tucked the wing against his back and sat up beside me, cross-legged and hunched over — to accommodate his folded wings, I supposed. But the posture deepened his brooding expression.

"Violar, I... I don't know how to apologize for that one. I was drunk, as I told you. She and I both were. It was a bar," he added with a slight huff. "There's nothing to do at a bar except drink and flirt and dance and drink some more, and one thing led to another, and..." I glanced away and bit my lip, and Angel broke off with a shrug. "Just like that, I had a girlfriend. When my head cleared, though, one of my first thoughts revolved around how little I was looking forward to telling you about it."

"And why is that?" A sharp edge crept into my voice, and I stared resolutely at the stove. "You didn't want to risk another lecture on oases in the Desert of Loneliness and waiting for paradise?"

Angel didn't react to the barbed comment. He slowly shook his head, and my Danger Sense weighed heavily with regret.

"No, that isn't why. But you should have seen your face, Violar. I..." He sighed. "You looked... stricken. I didn't expect that. At first I wondered if maybe, just maybe, you'd been carrying a torch... But then you explained it all away, and you explained it so well that you even had me believing that you were just... just worried on my behalf and disappointed in my choice of girlfriends. I was never at liberty to ask about your feelings after that, but I was never sure either way... until I read what you'd carved on that wall."

He nodded at the wall in question, which was now covered by a deerskin. Even knowing that Angel had already read it, I couldn't bear to leave the memorial in the open. It made me feel too vulnerable... too exposed. Angel hadn't commented on my new wall hanging, choosing instead to respect my wishes in silence. I'd appreciated that.

Something inside of me cracked. "I could never tell you after that," I said miserably. "You invited me to... and I almost did... but I couldn't." I scowled at a surge of emotion. "Even now, I don't know whether I should have just admitted it and returned to Narnia or... if I did the right thing by remaining silent and encouraging you in that doomed relationship. If you'd been happy, at least, I could have healed in time... but instead, I had to stand by and watch... and it was like watching my best friend die, one little piece at a time. And there was nothing I could do to stop it."

He touched my shoulder, and I immediately gripped his hand and pressed my cheek against his fingers. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I'm so sorry, Angel," I whispered brokenly. "I wish I could have done more for you."

Gentle arms wrapped around me, pulling me out of the furs and into his embrace. Blindly I buried my face in his shoulder and sniffled.

"You did everything you could," he tried to assure me.

"But it wasn't enough," I lamented, my voice shaking. "I would have done anything... anything..."

"I know, I know. Shh..."

My bleeding heart spilled over, and tears soaked into his turtleneck. After a moment I pulled away and sat across from him, wiping the back of my hand across my damp cheeks.

"You know, Angel..." A shudder ran through me. "There is one thing that may have held me back from... from doing _everything_ within my power... on your behalf. Something... personal." I swallowed hard, then admitted, "I'm terrified of... of falling in love."

"Most people are," replied Angel gently.

I shook my head vehemently, frowning. "No... not the way I am. I..." Tears coursed down my face, and I paused long enough to brush them away. "I... I watched love kill my mother."

Understanding flooded my Danger Sense. "I remember. You told me the story. Your father was killed by werewolves, right?" I nodded. "And then you wandered with your mother..."

"In the forest..."

"For a month..."

I nodded again. "I saw the life ebb out of her, and there was nothing I could do. One morning, she... she didn't wake up. I remember thinking to myself that I would never, ever fall in love that way. I saw how wonderful their relationship was, but seeing the way it ended, I wanted no part of it."

Angel's expression turned quizzical. "Then why did you — I mean, this might not be a very polite thing to ask," he backtracked. "But why did you... I mean..." He trailed off, uncertain. When I tilted my head, equally uncertain, he wondered, "Why me?"

"Ah." I smiled softly, then gazed at him earnestly. "How could I not, Angel? You're... amazing. You're wonderful. In so many ways, you're... perfect."

He gulped and looked away, suddenly shy — but pleased.

"I often reflected, though, that clinging to an impossible dream was safer than pursuing something that _was_ possible," I continued, sobering. "I can't help wondering what I might have done if events had played out the way I'd hoped. Would I have pulled away? Would I have maintained my distance? I really don't know."

That sent Angel into a thoughtful mood. "You know, I think it's best not to dwell on the past like that — on what might have been or what might not have been. You know? Because there are endless possibilities, all based on the choices we've made. We make our choices and move on. Whether we've taken paths that were right or wrong, we are here. Nothing can change that."

Marveling at the wisdom of those words, I gazed at Angel. Then, impulsively, I reached over and grasped his hand.

"Thank you for reminding me of what I haven't lost," I said softly.

The warmth of Angel's smile burned through me, and he drew me into a hug. I closed my eyes, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Don't mention it."

Suddenly I laughed at Angel's signature response. Then I breathed a deep sigh and glanced around the cave from my vantage point on his shoulder, amazed that the conversation had gone so well and grateful for the burdens that had lifted from my heart.

"Somebody sounds happy," Angel remarked, and I heard the smile in his voice.

"I am, Angel," I said, also smiling. I smothered a yawn in his shoulder. "Sleepy, too, but definitely happy."

Then I felt his wings close around me, and I whimpered in delight. I burrowed my nose against Angel's shoulder, and my Danger Sense responded with a wave of tenderness.

"Good." His wings released me, and he picked me up and nestled me into the pile of furs by the fire. "You go ahead and sleep, Violar. Sweet dreams."

"And to you," I murmured, already halfway unconscious.

But I was aware that Angel tucked furs around me and tended the fire in the stove before deep sleep claimed me altogether.


	12. Ties That Bind

I woke up in the middle of the night. Orange fire still burned in the stove, but — even without pulling back the deerskin to look outside — I knew it was very late; probably sometime after midnight. A glance around the room told me that I was alone: Angel had gone to bed.

Something had awakened me. I'd fallen asleep in a state of perfect contentment, but now anxiety surged through every nerve. The very air crackled with invisible electricity. I laid very still, straining my ears and listening to the outside world. I heard nothing except the cold wind blowing and the delicate whisper of snowflakes landing on the world. Inside the cave, I heard my own heartbeat, my carefully measured breathing, and Angel's soft snores coming from the bedroom.

Suddenly my Danger Sense plummeted into a dark pit of despair. I focused on it. Was someone close by? Were we in danger of being discovered?

Then another thought struck me: Who in their right mind would be wandering in a blizzard?

The colors in my Danger Sense swirled, then solidified in a way I'd never experienced before. For the first time, as if inner blind eyes had been opened, I could see. I saw the shadowed leafless trees, the falling snow, and — up ahead — silhouetted shapes of men and aimless beams of flashlights.

My heart began to pound. The men walked awkwardly through the snow with large, flat contraptions strapped to their feet — unless they were all mutants with the same bizarre foot mutation, and I highly doubted that. Flashlight beams darted everywhere. I counted at least eight of them. And they were coming closer.

I leapt out of the furs and raced across the room so fast that my feet barely touched the floor. I plowed straight through the deerskin curtain and pounced on Angel, clamping a hand fiercely over his mouth. His blue eyes shot open in terror, and his wings beat furiously as if he were a trapped sparrow, battering my head and shoulders. I ducked under the powerful onslaught of feather and bone, bringing my face close to his.

"Shh! Angel! It's me." Recognition blazed across his face, and his wings instantly stilled, quivering in midair. I didn't move my hand from his mouth, because his large eyes still reflected the fear I felt. "Keep quiet," I hissed. "Someone's coming."

When he nodded, I released him. He sat up and pushed the blankets aside, wearing only his jeans. I noticed the glossy sheen of perspiration on his tense features.

"How many?" he whispered, rubbing his forehead in a sleepy manner.

"I don't know," I hissed back. I searched my Danger Sense, then felt bewildered. The images that had been so strong only moments before were gone.

"Did you hear them? Are they close?"

"I-I don't know," I whispered again. "I felt them coming... in my Danger Sense. I don't feel anything now. I don't understand it."

"Okay. Come on." Angel swung his bare feet to the floor and hurried out of the bedroom. I followed close behind. He picked up the fireplace poker and moved to the cave doorway, and I grabbed one of my swords before taking up a position opposite him. He glanced at me; I nodded back.

He yanked the deerskin aside. Snow whirled thickly out of the night sky, dusting the cave floor like powdered sugar. He leaned out, and I listened with all my might. I heard nothing.

Angel ducked back inside. "You stay here," he ordered in a low, firm tone. "I'm going out to have a look."

Panic rocketed through me. With a sharp gasp, I seized his arm.

"Angel, no!" I cried. His tense muscles felt like stone, and my fingers dug into his skin as I pleaded in jumbled sentences. "Please don't go. Don't leave me. I can fight. We'll go together..."

Whirling suddenly, Angel crushed me against him in a strong hug. I gripped him just as tightly, trembling all over and gulping back tears. He kissed my hair, then whispered near my ear.

"I promise I'll come back, Violar, but I _need_ you to stay here. If you're out there, I'll worry about you — do you understand? They can't catch me if I'm in the air, and I'll find them faster from up there than if we're on the ground. Let me go, Violar. _Please_. Trust me."

Choking down a sob, I released him and backed away, nodding through my tears. "Hurry back," I begged, my face crumbling.

Clutching his poker, Angel gave a quick nod. Then he turned and leapt straight into the air. His massive wings unfurled and beat hard, and he disappeared into the snowy night.

My heart twisted. I gripped my sword, trembling all over and trying not to cry. Freezing wind whipped through my disheveled hair, but the cold wouldn't drive me from the doorway. Nothing would. I stared into the darkness, biting my lip against sniffles; listening as hard as I could and reaching into my Danger Sense for an image that wouldn't return. The evil vision that had been so clear only moments before had vanished without a trace.

Was I crazy? Had I just imagined it? Or had another vivid dream crossed into my consciousness?

Or was it some kind of warning — like a premonition?

"Aslan," I whispered, shaking so badly that I couldn't hold my sword steady. I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering. "Aslan, please... keep him safe..."

I stared at the sky, hoping one of the snowflakes would materialize into Angel. It didn't happen. Images of what might have befallen him out there flashed before my eyes: Angel, shot down by a stray bullet and captured while he was injured and unable to fly; lured into some kind of trap and dragged away to a hidden place where I'd never find him; lost in the snowstorm, falling to earth and freezing to death, all alone...

_I never should have let him go. By the mane..._

A tear ran down my cheek, and I could feel it beginning to freeze as it reached my chin. Winters in New York were brutal. I shouldn't have let Angel go without at least making sure he'd dressed warm enough. But there hadn't been time...

My Danger Sense blazed, and suddenly Angel landed in the snow, his blue eyes afire and his blond hair tousled by the wind. I dropped my sword and raced out to meet him, throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his chest.

"Angel," I gasped, sobbing.

"Easy, Violar. Easy." His voice was as warm and tender as his embrace. Lifting his massive wings, he sheltered us both beneath a canopy of feathers. "Everything's okay. The coast is clear. I couldn't even find any tracks. Don't worry — no one was out here tonight."

Choking and sniffling, I nodded. But I didn't move my face from his chest.

"You're freezing," Angel said, holding me close.

"So are you," I managed.

His smile sparkled like a ray of sunlight in my Danger Sense. "Come on, let's get you inside."

Locking his arms around the small of my back, he easily lifted me off my feet and carried me into the cave. He set me down in the entryway and turned to tuck the deerskin over the doorway, leaving me to wipe away tears and pull myself back together.

"Sit by the stove," I invited softly, already moving that direction. I tossed another log inside of it, put a pot of water on to boil, and rummaged through a box of ragged — but useful — fabrics for a large scrap of brown velvet I'd salvaged from the junkyard. When Angel sat down and folded his wings against his back, placing the poker back on its stand, I knelt down and rubbed the velvet over his icy feet.

Angel nearly dropped the poker. "Oh, V," he said with a self-conscious laugh. "You don't have to do that."

I looked into his blue eyes. "Please, Angel. Let me do this."

He must have seen the desperate intensity in my gaze. After a moment, he nodded his consent, and I finished wiping away half-melted snow and ice. Then I went into his bedroom, retrieved his socks and turtleneck, and brought them out to him.

"Hey, thanks," he said, offering a distracted smile. He pulled on the socks and the turtleneck, not bothering to tie the laces that went under his wings. Then he sat in the faded orange firelight, his white feathers draped on the floor behind him and a thoughtful frown tightening his youthful features.

I moved to the stove and poured out two mugs of hot water, adding a spoonful of instant cocoa powder to each. It made for thin hot chocolate, but that couldn't be helped: My supplies were limited.

"Here," I said as I returned, handing him a mug.

"Wow, thanks." He held out an arm — and a wing — to me. Without a second thought, I sat down and nestled into his side as he wrapped both around my shoulders. I sighed deeply as tension ebbed out of me. Sitting next to Angel felt… cozy. Like I belonged.

"I'm sorry to have sent you out on... on what I think they call a fool's errand," I began, just to break the silence — comfortable though it was.

Angel tilted his head and smiled at me. "A fool's errand is actually a purposeful practical joke, Violar."

I laughed softly. "I'll remember that. But tonight," I went on, sobering, "I don't know what happened. I saw them so clearly... I was sure there were people out there who were coming for us. It must have been a dream."

"It was a dream," Angel declared with such certainty that I looked up at him in surprise. "It was my dream."

"Yours?"

He nodded. "Just before you woke me up, I dreamed that I was running through the forest. I couldn't seem to fly, no matter how hard I tried. There were about a dozen men with flashlights who were tracking me."

I stared at him. "How is that possible?"

"Well, this is way out there, but maybe your subconscious can interpret dreams through your Danger Sense. Okay, let me back up." He chuckled. "I mean, you were sleeping, right? And then you woke up and saw my dream in your head. Maybe your Danger Sense is more powerful when your conscious mind is out of the way."

"Because… my subconscious relies more on instinct?"

"Something like that, yeah."

What Angel said made sense, but the knowledge that I'd had a glimpse into one of his dreams overwhelmed me. "Their feet," I remembered suddenly. "Their feet looked strange."

A glimmer of amusement kindled in Angel's blue eyes. "Are you referring to their snowshoes?"

"Snowshoes!" I cried, nearly spilling my hot chocolate. "Yes! I saw them. Angel, this is..." I shook my head, almost speechless with wonder. "I've never... seen imagery through my Danger Sense before. Usually it's all colors — formless, shapeless, and vague; much like the Northern Lights. But to actually see into someone else's dream, even for a moment..."

Angel grinned mischievously. "I'd better be careful what I dream about."

I swatted his shoulder, and he laughed. So did I. "Just do me a favor and steer clear of nightmares, alright?"

"Yeah, okay." He squeezed my shoulders, and a softer warmth burned steadily inside of me. "By the way, did you notice the insignia on their uniforms?"

"No, I didn't get a very good look at them. I saw them as little more than silhouettes — for just a brief moment, when I concentrated very hard. Still, for me, it was a tremendous breakthrough."

"I'm sure it was," agreed Angel.

"But pray tell, what insignia are you referring to? Was it somehow significant?"

Angel nodded grimly. "The search party came from the facility where I was being held."

The chocolate aftertaste in my mouth abruptly turned sour. Swallowing hard, I set aside my mug and glowered at the fire.

"Can you tell me what happened?" I asked quietly.

Angel hesitated. "If you're sure you want to know. It isn't a pleasant story."

I steeled my nerves. "I'm certain. I feel I must hear it."

He set his jaw, then leaned forward and placed his mug beside mine. "I'll make it brief, then — no sense in belaboring things. I arrived here in March, I think it was, and found New York City a very different place from the one I remembered. I came straight to Xavier's, of course, but it was just a pile of stones. All the mutants were gone. I flew around, searching for them, calling for them in my mind in hopes that the Professor or Jean would pick up my telepathic message. But no one replied."

I touched his shoulder, and a muscle in his jaw hardened. "Then what happened?" I wondered softly.

"I went into the city to look for my old offices. They were gone. Other people had rented or purchased the spaces, and every trace of anything familiar had been eradicated — or maybe it had never existed; I don't really know. The towers Worthington Industries owned were gone. Imagine how livid my father would've been, seeing his precious empire disappear overnight. Maybe someone bought him out or... who knows. Anyway, someone must have caught me looking in the window, because shortly after I checked the third office complex, a group of Sentinels came after me. I tried to fly away, but... well." He shrugged, and a brief scowl passed over his face. "Suffice it to say that I know how a butterfly in a net feels."

Knowing that the story would only get worse, I rubbed his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Angel. They took you away, I gather."

"Yeah, after they knocked me unconscious. I woke in a strange room that had a distinctively medical flavor to it — you know, sterile environment, white walls, functional metal decor. You get the picture." I didn't, but I nodded anyway. "They started doing experiments on me right away. My healing factor had them fascinated, and they wanted to know what made it tick. They drew enough blood to have filled up a good-sized reservoir. They injected me with various compounds — trying to stimulate the healing factor, then trying to suppress it; monitoring the results. Several weeks ago — a month, maybe two; I lost track of the time — I managed to escape. I hid in an alley for days, watching the Sentinel patrols and waiting for my chance to break for the woods."

"But you were caught again," I interjected. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "You're the fugitive Robert and Martha were talking about." When Angel stared at me in hopeless puzzlement, I explained, "There's a farm not far from here, and the people who live there were talking about a starving mutant who'd been captured. That was shortly before Thanksgiving."

"Sounds about right," he confirmed. "I _was _starving. They caught me when I came out to find food, and I was too weak to put up a good fight." He sighed heavily. "Anyway, turns out the doctors and scientists had successfully formulated a suppressant for my healing blood, and they threatened me with it if I tried to escape again. But I couldn't stay there, Violar. Lab rats are treated better. First chance I got, I made another break for it, and I almost got out. Almost. But not quite. So they decided to test their new formula on me. That's when they put that... that thing on the back of my neck. I don't remember much of what happened after that." He shrugged. "I have a hazy recollection of going a little crazy. My wings hit doctors and nurses, and I stumbled down the hallways, ignoring whatever they were shooting me with. Must have been deadly poisonous, I guess. You know, 'Terminate the experiment; it's gotten out of control.' They had gathered so much data about my mutation that I was probably expendable at that point, anyway."

I reached over and pressed his hand sympathetically. His gaze caught mine, then he flipped his hand over to twine his fingers through mine. My breathing hitched, and Angel noticed. His blue eyes flickered with intensity. He searched my face, and the rest of the world faded away.

"Tell me the rest," I managed huskily.

The smallest smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "I opened my eyes, and I saw you."

Warmth stole through me, mingling with the relief that eased my tension, and I lowered my gaze. I was grateful that Angel had given me an abbreviated version of the story, though I sensed that he'd left a lot of painful details out.

"I'm sure I looked a right mess," I said, remembering how frantically upset I'd been over nearly losing him.

Angel lifted my chin until he could look straight into my eyes. "You looked like... an angel."

I blushed.

"Violar, I mean it," he insisted. "You have no idea how glad I was to see you. Just the sight of you brought me back to life."

Much as I wanted to bask in the brilliance of those blue eyes, something restless stirred inside of me. I drew back even as I murmured, "Thank you, Angel. You're too kind."

He reached up and took a stray lock of my hair between his fingers, and I trembled as if his touch had electrified that lock. I blinked, wondering why hair — which had no nerve endings at all — could feel so sensitive in the right hands.

I gulped. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I can't promise an answer."

His low, resonant tone had a devastating impact on my ability to think, to breathe, to... to function like a normal centaur. It was a chore just to remember my question. "It's... important."

I heard the smile lurking in his voice. "I'll be the judge of that."

I shivered, very aware that he was slowly coiling my dark hair around his forefinger. "I-I just wanted to know, per our discussion earlier, if you'd rather be called Angel or Warren."

"At the moment, I couldn't care less."

A dizzy spell shook my vision. I felt Angel move a little closer, and every sense I possessed came alive. In that moment, I understood why fairy tales had been written about sleeping damsels awakening at True Love's Kiss, and why King Solomon's bride had advised the readers of The Song of Songs not to "awaken love until it so desires." There was nothing like it. That kind of powerful love wouldn't be denied. And it was happening to me — in that very moment. There was nothing I could do to stop it, or even slow it down. It rolled like a tsunami, engulfing everything in its path. The entire universe burst into bloom. A tidal wave of magic swept me away.

"So," I said, trying to sound calm, "would you like to talk about anything else?"

The lock slipped from his grasp, but his fingers slid down, delicately tracing my trembling jawline. "I'd rather not."

Butterflies scattered through my stomach. "Why not?"

He tilted his head, and his gaze riveted on my lips. "Because neither of us should be _talking_."

My stomach dropped out. I drew a shattered breath, but I couldn't look away — or utter a word. Angel leaned fractionally closer, and my eyes widened. My fingers flew to his mouth, pressing over his lips.

"Angel... Warren, please..."

The soft touch had a dramatic effect on him. His eyes rolled back, and he lingered against my trembling fingertips, sending shockwaves through my entire nervous system with each prolonged kiss. I shuddered and slid my hand to his cheek instead, shaking all over.

Angel cleared his throat, his eyes half-closed. "Violar, can I ask _you_ a question?"

I was suddenly afraid of what he might ask. "Maybe, after you finish answering mine," I stalled.

His darkening gaze locked with mine. "It's very important."

I gulped. Unnerved that he wouldn't drop the subject and falling prey to my own helpless curiosity, I paused long enough to acknowledge that I was standing on the brink of a fathomless abyss. There were no boundaries — no safeguards. If I jumped, there was no telling how far I would fall.

Finally I nodded.

He spoke very softly. "Why are you holding back?"

A whimper escaped me. My gaze fell to the floor, and I slowly shook my head, completely at a loss. It didn't seem logical at all. And I had no tangible reasons to explain my actions — or lack thereof.

"Is it because of Pyro?"

I flinched. A wave of disappointment, like an echo from my reaction, washed through my Danger Sense.

His voice gentled further. "Did you love him?"

I flinched again, then turned my head away.

"It's okay, V," soothed Angel, tugging me close. I easily gave in and rested against him, my cheek pressed to his shoulder. He curved a mantle of white feathers around me, but the comfort he offered did little to stem the tide of pain that rapidly rose to the surface. "I'm really sorry I couldn't save him."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "It wasn't... your fault. Even if you'd pulled him out, the Legacy Virus couldn't be stopped. There was nothing anyone could've done."

My words had little effect on the deepening regret in my Danger Sense. His chin felt heavy as it rested atop my head. "Can I ask another question?"

This time, I knew what was coming. I nodded — moving my head only slightly to avoid jarring his teeth.

"What happened with him? I mean, between him and you..."

I winced and moaned, wanting to escape from that question more than anything. I knew exactly what he meant. And I didn't want to answer.

As if he understood that some kind of epic struggle warred inside of me, Angel stroked a hand over my hair, "You can tell me anything. I just wanted to know... if you loved him."

_If you love him still,_ echoed the emotion in my Danger Sense — or perhaps the thought didn't come from my Danger Sense at all, but rather my throbbing conscience.

I bit my lip as tears blurred the corners of my vision. "I wanted to love St. John," I admitted quietly. "New York City reminds me of my own life: If you take a wrong turn, you'll get so lost, and you never know where you'll end up. I've had a long time to think about things... to wonder where I'd taken my wrong turns. I met St. John right after Christmas, and I was reckless. I went looking for danger, and... I found it."

Angel rubbed my arm, waiting patiently for me to continue. I gulped and cleared my throat, fighting to keep a hurricane of emotions in check.

"He had blue eyes." I found myself smiling at the memory. Then I sobered. "They could blaze like ice and fire in the same moment. He was powerful and dangerous, but out of control and... lost. And very alone. He had no one in his life who cared about him at all. That fateful night in January, he did everything he could to push me away. But I was determined to shadow him, to help him — no matter what he threw at me. And it... it broke through, eventually. On the other side of that facade, I found someone who was very vulnerable and very frightened at the prospect of getting close to someone. I never intended to offer him more than friendship, but..."

I stopped short of admitting that I'd kissed him. After knowing St. John for only a few hours, I'd allowed him closer to me than I'd ever allowed Angel. The knowledge scared me and froze some part of my soul. Even now, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake.

"He made the first move?" prompted Angel.

I grimaced and nodded, but I didn't comment. "The very next morning, he woke up in excruciating pain and... and I brought him to the Med Lab. He had the Legacy Virus, we found out. It was terminal — we had no cure. He had just one week to live. I was more devastated than I can tell you. The world had gone into total darkness in the space of a few hours, and there was no way out. I resolved to walk through that week with him, all the way to the end, no matter what... and I chose to love him."

Angel paused, as if to choose his response carefully. "That was very brave, Violar."

I dissolved into tears and buried my face in his shoulder. Wrenching sobs tore from deep inside of me, and Angel wrapped his arms around me, rocking me back and forth.

"I couldn't help him," I cried out desperately. "I lost him..."

Angel suddenly pulled me into his chest, and I clung fiercely to him and wept. His wings closed me in warm darkness as all the grief and raw agony spilled out of me.

"I lost him," I wailed, breaking down completely. "I couldn't... do anything..."

Angel's hand cupped the back of my head. "Shh," he whispered, his voice scraping with emotion. "You tried..."

"It wasn't... enough." Rough sniffles scorched my throat. "I might have made things worse... because..."

Doubling over as if my wind had been knocked out, I burrowed into Angel, crushed by the truth that I was only now coming to grips with. Then I clenched my fists and pushed myself upright. His arms and wings fell away from me, allowing me space to breathe. I sat across from him, sniffling violently, willing myself to utter the words.

"Because," I managed, bringing watery eyes up to Angel, "I couldn't... love him... completely."

Confusion clouded Angel's expression. Then understanding broke upon him, and shock slackened his features. I ducked my head and mashed the back of my hand over my mouth, struggling to hold back the rain of tears that poured down my cheeks.

"Oh, Violar, I'm so sorry," he said at last, gripping my elbow.

I shook my head helplessly. "It wasn't... your fault. It was mine... I wanted to let go and I couldn't... I wasn't strong enough..."

Angel caught me as I fell forward, already lost to crushing sobs. He gripped my shoulders as I collapsed against him, and he dragged me into his arms and enveloped me in his feathers. I felt his cheek pressing against my hair, and he rocked me harder.

"God, Violar... I'm sorry..."

I couldn't answer him. I drowned in tears as Angel held me, whispering soothing nonsense — and then, in a stronger tone, trying to reassure me.

"He wasn't your responsibility, Violar. You did what you could... You are stronger than you realize, and who knows. Maybe it did make a difference. Months or years down the road, something you said or did might offer him a glimmer of hope at a critical moment."

Sniffling fiercely, I reached up and wiped a trembling hand over my soaked cheeks. I shook my head.

"H-he doesn't re-remember." I bit my lip, trying to force the stammer out of my choked voice. "I — only I — remember. But I feel like I... betrayed something... precious..."

Angel leaned down to me, brushing his fingers over my face. "What could you possibly have betrayed, Violar?"

I wrenched my swollen eyes open and looked up at him. "You."


	13. Clarity

Moments later, I sat across from Angel, marginally calmer. My tears had slowed to a trickle and my sobs had quieted to little sniffles.

Angel hadn't moved since I'd pulled myself out of his arms. I swept a hand over my wet cheeks and sat back on my heels, afraid to look at him — afraid to say anything at all. When I ran out of tears to wipe away, I tugged nervously at my sleeve and brushed wrinkles out of my skirt. Tension gathered in my chest until I could hardly breathe.

"So," Angel said at last, his voice heavy and serious, "at last we come to the heart of the matter."

I swallowed hard. "I suppose so, yes."

He touched my shoulder, and I stiffened. Uncertainty rolled through my Danger Sense, and his hand dropped away.

"Right, okay, um… you'll have to help me out, Violar. I don't understand what you mean about this alleged betrayal."

With a deep sigh, I stared at my clasped hands, which rested in my lap. "I don't even know where to start," I answered, sounding as defeated as I felt.

He took a teasing tack. "It was that bad, huh?"

My eyes flew to his. "No. No. I mean, not _that_ way. Not like that. It wasn't… it wasn't like _that_."

The slightest smile flitted across his features, though his dominant expression still spoke of hopeless confusion. "Okay, now that we've ruled _that_ out, whatever _that_ is, you want to try explaining to me exactly what you _do _mean?"

The corner of my mouth quirked — more in regret than amusement — and I dropped my gaze again. "It's complicated."

"And back we go into the shadowy land of riddles," remarked Angel. I winced, but when I looked up at him, he was smiling. He held out a hand to me. "Come here, Violar."

Something inside of me softened. The gentle look in Angel's blue eyes enveloped my heart like a physical hug. Taking his hand, I let him draw me into his embrace and fold me into the warmth of his wings. I breathed a sigh and rested my cheek against his chest. All at once, I felt a moment of peace.

Angel didn't immediately speak. He held me close, allowing that peace to wash over us both. I was grateful beyond words, and I wanted to tell him — but I didn't want to break the silence, and I sensed that he already knew.

He settled a hand against my head. "You know, everyone makes mistakes, Violar. It isn't the end of the world."

"Mm?" Burrowing comfortably into the embrace of his feathers, I closed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if mistakes _were_ the end of the world, Adam and Eve would have destroyed the world the minute they plucked apples off that tree."

Startled by his reference to a story in Genesis — and a tale that was foundational in Narnia as well — I looked up at him. He didn't quite meet my gaze, but he was smiling wryly.

Finally I found my voice. "You speak as if you understand the grace of forgiveness."

Angel studied me. "Maybe. Do you?"

I lowered my gaze. "Understanding it and embracing it are two different things, Angel."

"True, but why?"

The simple question had a far more complex answer, and I hesitated before giving it. "Because even if I believe in forgiveness, I've made too many mistakes that seem irreparable to me."

He shrugged. "Well, look at me. I've lived a life riddled with mistakes. If there's still hope for me, there's surely hope for you, V."

His blue eyes met mine, and time stopped. I had to remember how to breathe. "You _have_ changed," I murmured at last.

His expression grew very serious. "Being held captive and reaching the breaking point — and surviving beyond it — will change a person, Violar."

The words resonated deeply. "You understand so much."

"I think so, yes," replied Angel with simple candor. "At least to some degree."

That common thread of experience between us eased the knots inside of me, and I felt more freedom to share. "I was also a captive, once, and I survived beyond the breaking point. My breaking point was reaching the threshold of death, and even finding myself alive — and alone — past the moment when I expected everything to be over. I was ready, I think... and yet... when I came back and I realized that I had a second chance, I was able to embrace that eventually — once I recovered from shock and discovering that St. John had gone on without me."

The look of sympathy and compassion Angel gave me would have melted stone. "I'm so sorry that you had to walk through the fire all alone, Violar."

I tightened my jaw, refusing to cry again — though the look in Angel's deep blue eyes nearly broke my fragile defenses. "Walking through it alone was the only way," I answered softly.

That puzzled him. "Why do you say that?"

"Because..."

I sighed heavily and turned my face into his shoulder, wishing I could hide from the past. Angel waited patiently while I sorted through a tangle of emotions.

"Angel," I said after a moment, drawing back to gaze soberly at him, "you're not going to like the answer to that."

"I like _not_ _knowing_ the answer even less," he replied.

I lowered my eyes. "I wish I were talking to almost anyone but you about this."

"And why is that?"

His voice held a note of challenge, I thought — and plain affront mixed with a little hurt. I ventured a glance at him. "Not because I dislike talking to you, and not because I don't trust you, and not because I don't think you can help. It's just that I know you well enough to guess the impact this truth will have on you."

"What sort of impact might that be?"

I bit my lip. "You'll feel responsible, Angel, and you shouldn't — because this was all _my_ fault, not yours."

"So what happens if I promise to blame you for everything, then? Will you tell me?"

I laughed suddenly, looking up at Angel. He grinned.

"Very well," I conceded finally. "You win."

"Good, thanks, because the suspense is killing me."

I smiled back at him, then drew one more breath to steel my courage. "Alright, I'll start from the beginning. Remember the feather I used to wear in my hair — one of your feathers; the one I picked up from your floor?"

"With perfect clarity."

Something about his deep, decisive tone sent a shiver down my spine. "I told you that it was a centaur tradition, but it wasn't — not exactly. It was more of a personal tradition for me to... to keep mementos of people whom I... love."

Folding my hands carefully in my lap, I didn't dare look at him. But my Danger Sense swelled with a rich, heady warmth, and it steadied my nerves.

"And that made it a 'centaur tradition'," supplied Angel.

"I'm afraid so. In any case," I went on, quickly skipping ahead, "I wore the feather in my hair until just after Christmas. I had to move on, I told myself. Holding on to something that didn't exist would only kill me. But it didn't help. Then I grew a little reckless, traveling through the city at night... dodging strangers, breaking up a mugging... and I ran into St. John two weeks later. He was the personification of the danger I sought. He got me into a lot of trouble in a single evening."

"What sort of trouble?" Angel sounded concerned.

"He created a fire creature..." I hesitated, then backtracked. I'd resolved to tell him everything. "He asked me what I wanted, telling me that he could create anything out of fire. I-I requested a life-sized fire centaur."

"I'll bet that was spectacular," said Angel quietly, intrigued.

My eyes locked with his. "A fire centaur," I echoed, "with wings."

His eyebrows jumped. I dodged his searching glance.

"At first, everything was fine. Then St. John sent the creature on a terrible rampage that ended in a few smashed windows and a badly-burnt passerby. I was infuriated, and I tracked St. John when he left the scene, but he was genuinely upset — even if he didn't show it; even if he didn't say so. My Danger Sense told me as clearly as words. His belligerence was nothing more than a charade. So I offered a kind of truce and asked if we could have dinner at a nearby restaurant. We had a wonderful time, both of us sharing secret stories. And then he robbed the place."

"Good God," Angel muttered.

I shook my head. "All of a sudden, I was an accomplice — an unwilling one, but an accomplice nonetheless. We both escaped, but I couldn't return to the mansion if the police were on my tail. I never admitted it to St. John, but I was scared and upset beyond reason. When he reluctantly offered his living room as a place for me to stay, I took him up on it with equal reluctance."

The emotion in my Danger Sense hardened like hot iron in a forge. I looked up and found his expression a stoic mask with hints of anger smoldering at the seams.

"I never meant to bring trouble to Xavier's doorstep," I added hastily. "They were my family—"

"I'm not angry with you, Violar." Angel frowned. "You should have come to us for help. We would have dealt with St. John."

"But it was my fault—"

"Nonsense." His frown deepened to a scowl. "St. John was a dangerous villain. He hurt a lot of innocent people, for years, and the X-Men had their hands full just trying to stop him. He could have hurt you, too. Trying to help him never worked. Believe me, the Professor tried. You didn't know who you were dealing with."

"Oh, yes, I did." I faced Angel squarely. "I have a Danger Sense, remember. And I daresay I had a glimpse of layers in St. John that ran deeper than—"

"The Professor can read minds, Violar. With all due respect to your Danger Sense, you underestimate his powers — or perhaps you overestimate yours."

I lifted my chin. "You don't understand. I pursued St. John so tenaciously precisely _because_ he was dangerous. You, of all people, should know what it feels like when pain brings a numb soul back to life."

Angel looked away, clearly stung. "Well, you should have come to us anyway. We were your family. What did you expect — that we'd turn our backs on you, just because you got into a little trouble?"

"A _little_ trouble?" I repeated, incredulous. I surged to my feet. "You call robbery a _little_ trouble? We were thieves, Angel. Do you have any idea what the Council would have done if one of their members were associated with such a heinous crime?"

"Drawn and quartered you?" he suggested.

"Try banishment!" Turning away, I raked a hand through my unruly mane. "For me, being drawn and quartered would have hurt less." I deliberately softened my tone. "You're not a centaur, so please, allow me to explain. I... I had just acquired a new family, Angel, after over a decade of searching for something I never thought I'd find. Maybe you don't understand that, but... it meant everything to me." My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. "I didn't want to lose you..."

Feathers rustled behind me. Then hands gripped my shoulders with comforting strength. "I'm sorry, Violar. Maybe things in your Narnia are different."

I sighed. "Not Narnia as a whole, but perhaps with the Council Ring. Centaurs are considered the equivalent of... of angels, I suppose, in my world. We're very close to Aslan. The inhabitants of Narnia look to us for guidance. The members of the Council Ring must be above reproach — for the good of Narnia. I could never have lived up to their standards. Perhaps it was as much for my benefit as the Council's that I never counted myself among them."

"And you thought we were too good for you, too?"

Hearing the questioning note in his voice, I slowly turned to face him. "Something like that. I had no intention of bringing disgrace upon any of you."

Angel smiled wryly. "You don't know half the history of the X-Men, V. We don't get along with the police, and they don't get along with us. That is, not most of the time. Things were starting to improve, and the Professor did everything he could to foster good relations with the government. But he wasn't always successful. A lot of us were treated unjustly by the system. We never turned our backs on one of our own who accidentally kicked the hornet's nest."

"Oh." I dropped my gaze to the floor.

Angel brushed the backs of his fingers over my cheek. "I hate to tell you that you suffered all that mental anguish for nothing, but you kind of did. At the very least, you should have come to me."

I shrugged. "Perhaps. But... you were busy."

"Not _that_ busy." Angel rubbed my shoulders. "I wouldn't have made you stay with St. John, you know."

I looked up at him. "And I could have stayed in the woods or returned to Narnia. I wasn't helpless. I had choices, and I chose to stay with St. John."

His hands stilled. He stared at me with a mixture of wary puzzlement.

"Sorry to interrupt your story, Violar," he said finally, sinking to the ground and tugging my hand. "Come sit down and tell me what happened next."

I sat stiffly across from him. "If you didn't like the story up to that point, you'll truly loathe what comes after. Thus, I hesitate to tell you more."

"It isn't the story that bothers me," Angel protested. "It's St. John."

My ire boiled over. "You're one to talk, Warren. St. John had so much in common with you that sometimes it hurt just to _look_ at him." Angel's blue eyes flashed with shock — and then outrage. I ignored that. "He lacked wings, and charm, and a general sense of self-sacrifice and other heroic qualities, but I saw so much of you in him. I could have unearthed more, given time. And I was determined not to let it out of my sight!"

"You have quite the imagination," Angel bit out. "I'm _nothing_ like St. John."

"You're wrong. But you never gave him half a chance."

"I did, Violar. We _all_ did. I'm telling you, you don't know our history with him. If you did, you'd have washed your hands of him, just like the rest of us."

Slowly, I shook my head. "Not when I had a chance, however slim, at finding a shadow of someone like you."

That caught Angel with his mouth open. He stared at me, and I — who had stared down many creatures on the battlefield until they could no longer withstand my gaze — looked away first. I clasped my hands nervously. Angel wasn't the only one who'd been broadsided by my confession. Even I hadn't faced that truth squarely before, and it shook me to the core.

"P-please," stammered Angel quietly. "Go on."

I stalled, reluctant to continue. But it was too late. I'd already leapt from the cliff.

"I was... tired," I said after awhile. "I wanted to sleep, but... St. John's emotions were as raw as mine. He was just better at hiding it, or — as they say here — bluffing about it; covering his feelings with a rough exterior. So I challenged him to a duel."

That startled a laugh from Angel. "Really?"

I smiled regretfully. "Yes, truly. I had a mop and he had a broom, and we whacked away from one side of the living room to the other."

He chuckled. "I wonder what the neighbors thought about all the noise."

I met his gaze. "Do you suppose that a fellow with St. John's reputation _ever_ had to concern himself with such trifles as neighborly complaints?"

Instantly Angel sobered. "Uh, no, I guess not. I didn't think of that."

"You would have, had you been in my place."

Angel gazed steadily at me. A wealth of thoughts burned behind his blue eyes and rolled like waves through my Danger Sense.

"Were you afraid that he'd kill you if you crossed him?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps a little. Mostly I enjoyed the challenge — the subtle thrill of knowing that the possibility existed, but defeating it — much like crossing a tightrope over a canyon, one step at a time."

"What about after... after your friendship, you know, became _more_ than friendship?"

The awkward way Angel worded the situation caused me to shift uncomfortably. "After we moved beyond the threshold of mere friendship, I had greater fears to grapple with. In hindsight, I find it remarkable that I rushed headlong into a deeper relationship — that, for a little while, I forgot... or perhaps conveniently ignored... the things that held me back in the past. Sometimes I wonder if I did it because I was escaping pain and enjoying the challenge, or if there was something truly special about St. John."

I paused, remembering St. John's gentler manner with me — the way he'd protected me from the killer carpet in the silly play we'd spontaneously created; his soft, shy kisses; his feather-light touch on my cheek. "But it was gratifying, at the same time," I went on more softly, "when St. John lowered his walls and let himself be vulnerable. Every little thing I did for him was appreciated and treasured greatly, because no one had ever treated him that way before. He lived in a desert—"

"And you were his oasis."

My gaze snapped to Angel's taut face. He wasn't angry, but he struggled against something that resembled jealousy in my Danger Sense and defied any other definition. I winced; I hadn't meant to say so much about St. John. Memories forged by fire were very strong.

"Perhaps. But—" I swallowed hard. "He was mine, too. And I... I loved him." I hesitated, then added quietly, "He was becoming something very beautiful, and I would have given my life to see that transformation through to the end. I almost did..."

My throat constricted, and I fell silent.

Angel pursed his lips, glanced at the ceiling, then took the end of one wing in his hands and pulled thoughtfully at his feathers. "Can I ask how you betrayed me?" he wondered, his attention on the feathers.

A little surprised that Angel hadn't put all the pieces together on his own, I twisted my fingers together. Perhaps he just wanted me to connect the dots, I decided. Or maybe he truly didn't know. Maybe the answers were only clear in my own mind.

"In order to love St. John," I began slowly, "I had to abandon... my feelings for you."

Angel didn't look up. "I thought you already did that when you took the feather out of your hair."

I shrugged, fighting to suppress the powerful well of hurt inside of me. "In a way."

"What do you mean?"

_Detachment,_ I told myself firmly. _Calm detachment. Just tell him what happened like it didn't matter. Because it doesn't matter._

"I mean that the heart is stronger than the head. And regardless of what your head tells your heart, your heart seldom listens."

"Meaning—?"

"That I tried to give up my... my feelings for you..."

"But you couldn't," he supplied.

I nodded miserably. "I couldn't love St. John, either — not completely. In the end, I betrayed you both."

"No, Violar. You didn't." The feathers dropped from his hands, his piercing blue eyes riveted on me. Compassion softened his features. "You never betrayed either of us, you betrayed yourself."

I winced. "If you want to look at it that way," I answered wearily. "_You _weren't hurt by what I've done. St. John was."

"And now he doesn't remember a thing, according to you."

I nodded.

"Then the only person who's still hurting is you."

I mashed a palm against my forehead, suddenly trembling. "That isn't... no..."

"It is," replied Angel gently, taking me in his arms. He pressed my head into his chest as the well inside of me rose to the surface, spilling over and pouring down my face. Angel rocked me back and forth. "Let it go, Violar," he whispered in my ear. "Just let it go. I forgive you."

I sniffled, clinging nervously to him.

"I forgive you," he whispered again.

A deep, deep sigh — which seemed to originate in the deepest recesses of my soul — escaped me, taking most of my tears with it. Then, slowly, the knots inside of me began to untangle and dissipate. I softened in his embrace, and I felt Angel smile when I did. He pressed his lips against my ear in a light kiss, then whispered a third time.

"I forgive you."

Another shuddering sigh blew out of me. My turbulent emotions stilled, like a calm ocean at midnight. I felt no need to do anything except rest and simply... exist in that moment. I sniffled once more, and then all was quiet.

"Thank you," I whispered back.

Angel's lips curved into a smile against my ear. "What were you saying earlier, about the grace of forgiveness?"

His smile transferred straight to me. "That I... needed it?"

That made him laugh. He pulled back and grinned. "I don't remember those exact words coming from those pretty lips of yours. Try again."

I blushed and lowered my eyes from his. "Then I'll speak them now, because that is what I _should_ have said."

Angel ran his fingers through my hair. "Wish granted. Have you any other wishes you'd like to share?"

I smothered a sudden giggle. "Only to ask if you have any wishes that _you_ would like to share."

He gave my hair a playful tug. "Hey, no fair, turning the tables on a genie like that."

I laughed heartily and pulled my locks out of his grasp, then smiled up at him. I felt radiantly happy, and when Angel saw it, pleasure swelled in my Danger Sense and sparkled in his blue eyes. He brushed his fingers over my cheek.

"I mean it," he said, his smile fading with a more intense expression. "Is there anything else you want, Violar?"

I breathed a gentler sigh, searched my heart, and came up empty. I gave my head a little shake. "There isn't, Angel, truly. Only a few days ago, I was living alone in a void that felt like... like the end of all things. Then you came, and you've made everything right. What else could I ask for when I have everything I need?"

Angel's dazzling smile returned full-force. He leaned down, hesitated briefly, and kissed the bridge of my nose.

"Sweet Violar," he murmured, his voice a little husky. "I think I'll, um, I'll take you up on your offer about the wishes. If you're still offering."

"I am," I responded. "Anything."

"Will you show me this junkyard of yours?"

Surprised, I smiled up at him. "Of course. Whatever for?"

Angel grinned. "That," he said, pulling me to my feet, "is a genie's secret."


	14. The Demise Of Cold Logic

On a crystal-clear morning, Angel and I set out, properly bundled with coats and gloves. The sky above us sparkled like illuminated sapphires, and the smooth white hills before us were totally unmarked until we set foot and hoof upon them.

Ahead of me, Angel abruptly stopped and reached into the snow. Butterflies scattered through my stomach, and I broke into a gallop just as he whirled and sent two snowballs flying after me. Both missed.

Giggling, I came about, prancing high over the snowdrifts. "How do you like your new gloves, Mr. Worthington?"

He grinned and held up both hands, wiggling his fingers. "Very soft and very warm. These are deerskin, right?"

"Yes." I was extremely proud of them. Not only had I managed to get the fit exactly right for Angel's hands, but I'd installed laces at the wrists that, when tightened, kept snow out of the gloves. As an added bonus, Angel couldn't tie them by himself. He needed me for that, and I was only too happy to oblige.

Angel chuckled and strode up to me with an easy grace, despite the deep snow he walked through. He patted my flank in a friendly way. "You know, back in the days of Worthington Industries, I had a closet full of designer clothes. I had some gloves, too — really expensive ones. But these are amazing, V. I don't remember owning anything quite like them."

I flushed with pleasure and favored him with a smile. "Thank you, Angel."

"Don't mention it."

He fell into step beside me, and we walked in comfortable silence. But I wondered about Angel at the same time, searching into my Danger Sense for some clue about his feelings. After our long discussion the night before, Angel hadn't said much, and he'd kept his distance from me ever since.

Some part of me — a large part, admittedly — was disappointed. I'd bared my soul, revealing thoughts and feelings I'd never meant to share with him — at least not until Angel had made a move first. As I'd told him, all my cards were on the table, yet the cards he held remained a mystery. But pointing that out hadn't prompted Angel into tipping his hand, and I wondered why.

I knew Angel didn't like being vulnerable. Two years ago, an unexpected vulnerable moment had broadsided Angel, causing him to cry in my arms like a scared little boy. Afterwards, he'd shied away from me — especially when I hadn't reciprocated with equal vulnerability. Now that I'd been the vulnerable one and it was clearly his turn to bare his soul, he'd once again stepped back. Nothing had changed between us.

It hurt me, a little. I tried not to dwell on it. Clearly Angel wasn't interested in a deeper relationship now — any more than he'd been two years ago. He didn't love me.

But then, my memory reminded me, he'd acted interested enough only a few days ago. A tingle still went through me when I thought of the way he'd brushed his fingers along my cheek, gazing at me with eyes like a stormy sea. So what had changed? Maybe I'd said something he hadn't liked — something that unsettled him; something that had given him pause about pursuing me.

Perhaps it was for the best, I tried to console myself. Mere friendship with Angel was much less dangerous. Romance with such a powerful, passionate force would've been a terrifying, and undeniably exhilarating, experience. But I couldn't deny that my hearts ached, as if I'd gambled everything and lost.

"If you don't share what's going on in that head of yours, centaur, I'm going to pelt you with snowballs until you talk."

The unexpected threat wrung a startled laugh from me. I glanced at Angel, who stomped through the snow with his gloved hands stuffed in the pockets of his brown trench coat.

Thinking madly, I hit upon a plausible muse. "It's not all that pleasant to contemplate, but Angel, why haven't the people who held you prisoner tracked you after your escape?"

Angel shot me a dubious look, as if he knew full well that his captors hadn't occupied my thoughts at all. But he went along with it. "I've been asking myself the same question. We've had quite a few snowstorms since I got out, so tracking must've been difficult. Also, I'm supposed to be dead. They put that stuff in my neck. Remember?"

I shuddered. "How could I forget," I muttered darkly.

He patted my flank again. "Don't worry about it. They probably think the body has been covered up with snow by now, and they don't have to recover it until spring. Dead mutants aren't much of a threat."

That wasn't comforting. I glared at the sparkling white trees that turned peach and gold in the bright sunlight. "And what happens in the spring, Angel? Will they come after us then?"

When his eyes met mine, his expression was more sober. "It's a very likely possibility, Violar, and one that we should consider. These woods may not be safe for us forever."

I lowered my head and nodded, suddenly downcast. Almost I wished I'd told Angel the truth instead of bringing up such a bleak scenario — but then again, the truth would have led me into a different kind of regret. I'd already been too forthright over the last couple of days — especially the night before.

The colors in my Danger Sense took on darker overtones. "Violar, I'm really sorry to have dragged you into this mess. You lived peacefully in the woods for all this time, and now—"

My gaze shot to his. "No, Angel, don't apologize for that. Living peaceably in the woods isn't all that wonderful, when one is completely alone, and I still shudder to think what would've happened to you if I hadn't been standing on that hill when you fell out of the sky. Thank Aslan that I was in the right place at the right time. Do you think I value peace so much that I would've rather lost you out there in the cold, just to keep danger from my door? No — I'd rather live on the run with you."

Angel gulped, and something in his blue eyes changed. Before I could define his expression, he looked away. "Thanks, V."

The colors in my Danger Sense jumbled into a disoriented kaleidoscope — one I had no hope of untangling. Apparently I confused Angel — to the point where he didn't know what to do with me. I swallowed hard. "Don't mention it," I responded softly.

We walked in silence until the wild colors in my Danger Sense cooled into a vaguely uneasy swirl, leaving my spirit heavy. I bit my lip and stole a glance at my enigmatic companion, who strode beside me with his hands still in his pockets and his wings pressed against his back and no expression at all on his face. Wind ruffled his thick blond hair, and he leaned forward — like a determined man hiking into a stiff headwind.

"That junkyard sure is a long way off," he muttered after awhile.

I breathed a laugh that lacked conviction. "I've not been in a terrible hurry, and I'm grateful for the distance between the junkyard and my hideaway. I never wanted a curious person to find my place."

"Good point," grumbled Angel. "But it's a long way to walk. I'd rather be flying."

"Nothing is stopping you," I replied, knowing I'd feel relieved to have some distance between us for a while.

His wings twitched. "Actually, there is. As you pointed out, we have to keep a low profile. On a perfect day like this, someone is bound to notice a strange white bird of extraordinary size wheeling around."

I stifled a giggle. "True, that."

"But I have fresh respect for your labors," he added. "You must have been very industrious—"

"Bored and lonely," I interrupted flatly. He glanced at me, and I shrugged. "Well, you try living alone in the wilderness for the better part of a year, and tell me you wouldn't look for excuses to keep busy."

"The way circumstances stand now, I'll have the opportunity to test your theory," Angel answered, smiling.

I had to smile back. "Only you won't be as bored or lonely as I was, Angel," I promised softly. "I'll see to that."

The look in his blue eyes would've melted stone. He set a gentle hand on my palomino flank. "Thanks, V. I appreciate that."

My emotions calmed long before he moved his hand away. I walked closer to his side — so close that Angel had to crane his neck to look up at me. But when he did, I smiled down at him.

Conflict instantly sparked to life in my Danger Sense. His blue eyes flickered with it. We looked away at the same moment.

"And here we are," I was relieved to announce. "Welcome to the junkyard."

A vast pit yawned open before us. Most of the trash was snow-covered after the recent storms, disguising the junkyard under a lumpy white quilt; but I pointed to a rocky outcropping on the north side.

"That's the entrance to a cave," I said, guessing Angel's next question. "The best of the junkyard is sheltered in there, along with a mountain of bags and boxes that I haven't yet had time to sort through."

"Wow." Angel looked around, trying to take it all in. "What a convenient place for a cave to be."

I gave him a sideways grin. "Actually, it wasn't much of a cave before I helped it along. It was more like... a dent."

He laughed, shaking his head. "There must be five acres of garbage out there. Didn't it smell awful?"

"Some bags do, yes. And centaurs have extremely sensitive noses. But I'm lucky that most of this junk comes from business complexes and a school, so I just avoid the bags that stink."

"Still, how in the world did you manage to sort through that much stuff?"

"Wilderness loners need hobbies too," I declared archly. When Angel chuckled, I had to smile. "Actually, you'd be surprised how much progress you can make in a place like this when you have a little time on your hands."

I picked my way down the slope, stiffening my forelegs and sliding down the steep path on my rump. When I landed, I straightened and shook snow from my coat, then looked up as Angel spread his wings and glided into the pit.

"You make that look so easy," I said, breaking into a trot along the narrow strip I'd cleared between piles of broken furniture.

He grinned at me. "Jealous?"

"Always."

"You should be."

I glared at him, but I couldn't help smiling. "You're incorrigible."

"You use that word a lot to describe me."

I flushed at that and softened. Looking wistfully at him, I held his blue gaze for a moment.

_What I meant to say... was adorable._

But I didn't have the courage to give voice to the words. Not when such uncertainty existed between us.

Whether Angel interpreted my look or not, I couldn't tell. He gave me a friendly nod, then turned and preceded me into the cave. I trailed after him, watching the way his wings expanded and contracted with every breath — as if they were separate creatures with minds of their own.

"Good thing this passage isn't a tight squeeze," he remarked.

I swallowed hard, schooling my voice into lighthearted neutrality. "I have claustrophobia. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah." He chuckled. "Right."

Then he rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Standing beside Angel, I watched him take in his surroundings: High rows of plastic and rubber bins stacked along three of the walls, neatly labeled and separated into cube-style shelves built out of two-by-fours. The center of the cave was dominated by a large table with benches, which acted as a workstation for me. A collection of old clocks, knick-knacks, small antiques and curiosities were scattered over the table's surface. Over the table hung two old chandeliers of different styles, both of which held candles instead of lightbulbs and were hung with crystals and prisms.

"Whoa," breathed Angel reverently. "Did... did you build all this?"

"Most of it, yes," I answered, moving deeper into the cave in Angel's wake. "I built the shelves out of two-by-fours, but not the table. I did replace two of the legs, however. They were missing and — I presume — broken. I only regret that I couldn't install the same kind of lighting you had in your office."

Angel laughed, but his incredulous expression remained. "Ambient lighting could hardly make this place look any better, although it is a little dim in here."

I smiled, then plucked a book of matches off the table and struck one, lighting four of the tall candles in the chandelier. "Not for long," I replied, blowing out the flame. I used one of the candles to touch fire to the wicks of other candles, revealing a series of mirrors in all shapes and sizes that I'd affixed to the ceiling with duct tape — which amplified the light. The prisms scattered broken rainbows everywhere.

Angel noticed and stared at his upside-down reflection. "Violar, this is... truly astounding." He stretched his wings and waved them slowly back and forth, watching the way candlelight and rainbow and shadow played over his feathers and reflected in the mirrors. "Why didn't you just live here?"

"This junk comes from somewhere," I said more curtly than I'd intended, turning away from the sight of his magnificent wings. It made my heart ache. "People visit here occasionally. This hideaway hasn't been discovered, and I'm grateful for that, but it's safer to live in the woods."

"Of course. Stupid of me not to think of that." Angel folded his wings and shook his head. "I'm just at loss, V. This is amazing."

"Thank you," I answered a little shyly, still not looking at him. I waved my hand at the plastic and rubber tubs, remembering their contents: Pens, pencils, beads and craft supplies, fishing line and old lures, stacks of letterheads and bills that were blank on the other side, tools such as hammers and wrenches, candles, flashlights, assorted dishes (most with chips in them), board games, used textbooks, old clothes and curtains and various fabrics, and assortments of odds and ends that made me wonder why Angel — sophisticated, rich, polished Angel — would be interested in any of it. "As you see, everything is labeled and organized. There's a ladder leaning against the wall there, in case we need to reach any of the higher shelves. Was there something in particular that you were looking for?"

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Angel turning toward me. Out of reluctant politeness, I did the same, though his intense admiration was somehow impossible to bear. It hurt to be admired for what I was capable of, I realized, rather than who I was as a person — as a mutant, as a centaur. Suddenly, for the first time in the two years I'd borne my ill-fated attraction to him, I finally understood something I'd never comprehended before... maybe because I'd never _wanted_ to comprehend it.

Angel couldn't see me.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd rather be left alone to find things," Angel's voice interrupted my thoughts as if from far away. "You've labeled this stuff so thoroughly that I should manage well enough on my own. Do you have a sack I can borrow?"

Blinking against the sudden sting in my eyes, I nodded. "Yes. Here." I cleared my throat and trotted over to one of the rubber tubs, the ringing of my hooves rather dull and lifeless in my ears. A torn bit of label on the tub had "Satchels" written on it in faded purple ink; I'd found a set of markers that someone had discarded, and not all the markers had yet run out of ink. "In here. Backpacks, pouches, duffle bags, and other sack-like items of all shapes and sizes. Some of them had holes, but I mended them. You're welcome to take anything you like. I'll just... step outside and leave you to your task. I need some fresh air anyway."

Preoccupied and heartsick, I moved away. Just as I stepped past Angel, he caught my elbow.

"Hey, V." I turned and looked down at him, my expression carefully blank — even as I searched his expression. He offered a warm smile and no indication whatsoever that he knew I was in turmoil. "Thanks."

I was right. He couldn't see me.

"Of course," I answered quietly, withdrawing my arm. The warmth of his smile made his blue eyes glow like a summer sky, and I yanked my gaze away. "Take all the time you wish. It's not like we have any pressing demands on our schedule."

That made him chuckle. "My time is your time, Violar."

I opted not to answer him. With a vague smile in his general direction, I trotted out of the cave and into the sunlight. The scowl on my face didn't owe completely to the harsh brightness, and the knots in my stomachs were enough to double a centaur over. Doubling my fists, I turned toward the cliff and pressed my forehead into the cold rock wall.

What a fool I'd been — a blind, besotted fool. I'd told myself that I'd done an excellent job of disguising my broken heart — and, in my opinion, I had. But surely Angel would have picked up on it at some point during our frequent conversations over the last two years. After all, I could plainly see things that Angel never shared with me. He couldn't hide from me. I, apparently, had the ability to hide from him.

And it had taken me two years to figure that out.

Disgusted with my own shortsightedness, I spun away from the cliff and wandered aimlessly through piles of garbage, remembering the night Angel had told me that he'd acquired a girlfriend — and the way I'd left the mansion, under a lame pretext, and sat against a smelly dumpster and wept bitterly. Stubborn determination must have kept me from seeing clearly after that, when Angel was entirely beyond reach.

Now that I'd put all my cards on the table and made myself look like an emptyheaded, infatuated faun (no offense to the fauns), I could finally see clearly. Maybe my confession was responsible for my sudden clarity of thought. Maybe sharing the events of the past two years with Angel had given me some much-needed perspective.

Whatever the case, the revelation had been long overdue.

Nausea took hold of me — the kind of permanent nausea that would take weeks, perhaps months, to subside. I tried not to look as miserable as I felt when I heard footsteps approaching. Schooling my features into calm politeness, I turned to face Angel as he emerged from the cave with a bulging duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"All finished?" I inquired.

"Yup." His smile was decidedly smug as he patted the bag. "I have everything I need now."

I nodded, too heartsick to reply — and fighting not to show it. We climbed out of the junkyard and headed home, walking side by side in silence. Thoughts quieted in my mind — a small mercy — giving way to oblivion. I plodded through the snow, caught in a numb shell of emptiness and bitter loss.

"You okay?" Angel wondered presently.

"Mhmm," I lied with a slight nod in his direction. Abruptly I stopped. "Why don't you go ahead. I should hunt some dinner, and you know the way back."

When I got up the courage to look at him, I found him studying me in obvious bafflement. "You sure? We could go home and eat a light snack first, and then I could scout from the air and even herd a deer or two straight toward you. How does that sound?"

_Terrible_, I thought. Instead I shook my head. "No, it's too great a risk, and I'm not hungry." That much was true, at least.

"It should be dark enough for me to safely fly in a couple of hours," said Angel.

I glanced away. "It's not worth it. I'm so used to hunting on my own that it's probably better if I just go. But you're welcome to make yourself at home in my absence," I added lamely.

Angel pivoted to face me, forcing my gaze to his.

"Violar," he said earnestly, placing a strong hand on my forearm. I flinched at his touch and tightened my jaw, and Angel noticed. Alarm brightened his blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

My gaze skated away. _Everything. Beliefs I've clung to for the past two years just proved false, and my world is upside down. I wish you'd go away and leave me alone so I can start picking up the pieces of a broken heart._

"Violar?"

With great reluctance, I lifted my chin and ventured a smile that felt rather flat. "It's... nothing much. I have a few things on my mind, that's all. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

Concern rippled his eyebrows. "Why don't you share it with me? You'll feel better faster if you do."

Pain swelled in my chest, quickly approaching unbearable levels, and I drew a subtle breath to release some of that intense heartache. "You may be right, but it's not even worth mentioning."

"It's worth mentioning to me."

That jolted me. I stared at him in blank surprise, then wary apprehension. "I..."

Pleasant warmth washed over me, and I glanced down at my forearm. Angel was rubbing my sleeve with a gentle tenderness that struck my wounded heart. Tears surged into my throat, and I lowered my gaze, blinking determinedly — fighting with all my might to hold back a tidal wave of emotion. I stood there, immobilized by his touch on my arm, feeling my heart crumbling to pieces with every move of his fingers.

I choked. "Angel, please..."

His grip tightened on my arm. "Violar... come down here."

Without thinking, I obediently touched my sapphire choker and shrank down to his level. Immediately Angel pulled me into his arms. I stood rigidly with my eyes shut as his hands swept over my back, running firmly up and down my spine.

"Easy, Violar," he breathed in my ear. "Don't hold it all in. You've been so alone... for so long. I'm here... I'm right here..."

A silent sob ached in my chest, but I wouldn't relent. I gathered what was left of my strength and pulled away from him, keeping my gaze on the ground.

"You're right," I said in a strangled voice. "You're right. I have been alone. And I... I would like to be alone now. Please."

Uncertainty roiled through my Danger Sense, but I'd left him little choice. And he was too much of a gentleman to trod on my wishes — a fact that I took shameless advantage of, and was very grateful for, now.

He stepped back. My heart lurched. I fisted my hands and fought the insane urge to rush forward and beg him to stay.

_What is wrong with you, Violar?_ I inwardly demanded. _Have you lost your mind?_

Yes. I had. Angel turned me into a complete idiot. He always had — right from the first moment I'd set eyes on him.

"Okay, V. If that's what you want."

He left the sentence hanging between us — an unspoken request that I would change my mind.

"It is," I answered quietly.

I heard him scuff his boot toe in the snow. "Yeah, okay. Well, I'll see you in a little while, then. Don't be long, V."

I nodded halfheartedly. "Thanks."

He hesitated a moment longer, as if contemplating the possibility of staying. My hearts stopped. I refused to look at him. But I could feel him — where he was, what he was doing; almost what he was thinking.

His wings slowly unfurled. He took a step backwards. My hearts began to thud in a dull, uneven rhythm, as if every heartbeat depended on his every move.

"If you're not back in three hours," Angel warned, "I'm coming to find you."

I swallowed hard. "The hunt may take longer."

His tone iced over. "Three hours, Violar."

"Four."

That startled a chuckle from him. "Three and a half."

The corner of my lip quirked upward, but I still didn't make eye contact. "Done."

My Danger Sense calmed, as if our brief banter had somehow reassured him. "Three and a half it is. Good luck, V."

"Thanks."

In a rush of feathers, Angel ascended into the sky. Only then did I raise my eyes to watch through tear-blurred vision as he swept out of sight.

Turning away, I leaned my forehead against a tree. I had been rendered entirely powerless, robbed of sense and teetering on the brink of insanity — because whether Angel could see me or not, it was too late for me.

I loved him.

I drew a sharp breath as tears skittered down my face. I loved him. I loved him so much that very little of my love for him depended on Angel — whether he would've made a good companion or whether he returned my love. None of it mattered. I loved him. Therein lay the tragedy.

I pushed away from the tree and set out on my lonely trek. I nearly blundered into the first deer, a whitetail buck that had been chewing on pine boughs and — judging by his puzzled expression — didn't know whether I was friend or foe. Caution won out and he finally bounded away, startling me from my reverie. I looked up in time to see his lithe form darting between silver birches, and I didn't bother to give chase.

The next buck was not so lucky.

With the large animal slung across my back, I headed home, taking a long and roundabout route designed to use every last minute of my allotted three and a half hours. The sun fell behind the mountains and twilight descended on the wintry world — a dazzling collision of golden sky and silvery-white snow. But winter triumphed, and darkness took hold of the sky. Thin ribbons of green danced along the northern horizon. And I was the lone wanderer in that bleak landscape.

As I approached the cave's hidden entrance, I hesitated. Warm golden light spilled from cracks around the deerskin door. I heard stirrings within, and I knew Angel was there.

_Crack! Crack! Bam!_

I stopped in my tracks. _What in the Lion's name...?_

_Whack! Whack! Wham! Crack!_

I hastened forward, flung aside the deerskin, and trotted into the cave. "Angel?"

_Wham! Crack—_

Tools clattered to the floor. There was a rush of feet and feathers, and Angel's boyish, grinning face appeared around the deerskin that divided the bedroom from the rest of the cave.

"Hey V! Good. You're back."

I stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Aht! Nope! No prying and no peeking. This room is off limits. No centaurs allowed."

Hopelessly bewildered, I took in his dazzling smile and the mischievous twinkle that illuminated his blue eyes until they glowed like warm sapphires. Then, slowly, I realized that it had been a long time since I'd seen him so... happy. So enthusiastic.

That softened me. I ventured a little smile.

"I won't go in there," I promised gently.

"Good, 'cause it's a mess." Angel's grin was brighter than the firelight. "But would you do me a favor?"

I replied without thinking. "Certainly."

"Okay, but no rush. When you're done skinning that deer, and maybe putting dinner on, would you bring me a few more large stones?"

Baffled, I gave my head a shake. "I beg your pardon?"

"Stones. You know. Big rocks."

Almost against my will, I smiled — a genuine smile. Heat blazed into my Danger Sense, and that startled me more than Angel's odd request. I had to avert my gaze from his open admiration, coldly reminding myself that... that...

I'd forgotten what to remind myself about.

"Of course I know what stones are," I said instead.

"Good, because there are only so many synonyms for 'big rocks'."

I huffed, amused. "And what, pray tell, do you need 'big rocks' for?"

"Not telling!"

A giggle wrung from me. "Your secret project, I presume. What are you doing, chiseling a statue in there?"

"No prying!"

Another giggle seized me. "A statue of... of a centaur?"

"Aht! That's far enough!"

I couldn't help myself. "A centaur with... reindeer antlers?"

"Darn it, Violar!"

I burst out laughing. "I've guessed it, haven't I!"

"Don't make me come out there!"

Butterflies scattered through both stomachs. Laughing helplessly, I lifted both hands. "Alright, alright. I'll pretend to be completely surprised. And I'll bring you the antlers—"

His wings snapped with incredible force, and his playful glare grew ferocious. "Scram! Do you want a present or not?"

Squealing with mirth, I stumbled backwards. "I'm going! I'm leaving!"

"Yeah, good riddance, centaur!" he shouted behind me.

The deerskin curtain closed with vehement force, but my sharp hearing — and my Danger Sense — told me that Angel was having trouble pretending to be angry... and to keep from laughing as hard as I was. I staggered out of the cave and back into the snow, giggling until I was obliged to wipe away tears.

Wearily, I shook my head at myself. Being around Angel made my emotions unpredictable. One moment, I'd plummet into the depths of despair, and the next I'd be laughing my hearts out over his ridiculous threats.

I didn't know whether I appreciated that or not. Being around Angel also made it impossible to think straight.

Smiling and warm, I drew my hunting knife and wandered a short distance from the cave to skin my deer. I would bring him his big rocks, I decided. And I would enjoy every minute of it.

A large part of me had been gripped with helpless curiosity — and excitement. Maybe, after dinner, Angel would reveal his surprise.


	15. The Surprise

Angel didn't reveal his surprise after dinner. He merely grinned at me — full of secrets and mischief — and disappeared into the bedroom.

_Wham! Bam! Ding! Ding! Crack!_

I rubbed my temples. The racket was enough to give an ordinary human a headache. A centaur with extra-keen hearing, however, was another story. I was grateful for any excuse to get out of the cave, and hunting for boulders provided just such an excuse.

It also provided a distraction from internal misery. Since I'd grown adept at using distractions to avoid my feelings regarding Angel over the past two years, I required little energy or imagination to maintain the outward facade. I'd become quite good at it, actually.

And it wouldn't prevent me from dabbling in a little mischief of my own.

The first rocks I brought Angel were about the size of softballs, tumbled and smoothed by the nearby stream. I borrowed Angel's duffel bag and stuffed the rocks into it, carted it back to the cave, and endured the relentless hammering long enough to paint silly faces onto the rocks — using leftover poster paints and horsehair brushes that I made by trimming my own tail and tying the bristles onto a short pine branch. I drew only eyes, eyebrows, occasional noses, and mouths to create a variety of expressions: A huge smile, a tongue sticking out, startled shock with large eyes and a tiny mouth, mad eyes in red beneath huge jagged eyebrows, suspicious eyes that glanced off to the left, and a shouting face that was all mouth and closed eyes. I placed my little rock creations outside the deerskin divider and waited for his reaction, and when Angel finally emerged and found a crowd of bizarre faces staring back at him, I was rewarded by a gusty shout of laughter.

"I could use some bigger rocks," Angel informed me presently, smiling.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Really? Are you making a stone snowman?"

He glared at me, grinned, and vanished.

_Whack! Crack! Crack! Ding! Bang!_

I left at once.

I returned with a few basketball-sized boulders. I arranged them in four rows of two, using duct tape to secure a set of antlers to the top of each one. Then I placed a ninth antlered boulder in front of the others, painted a red spot onto the center of it, and situated a miniature Father Christmas statue behind the whole team.

Angel laughed again.

"You can guess all you like, Violar, but you'll never get it right! Not in a million years!"

I giggled. "Give me a million years, then. I want to figure it out!"

"And I want you to be completely surprised," he countered, his tone taking on a deeper gravity.

A spark jolted my Danger Sense, and my mirth faded. Whatever Angel was doing, it apparently meant a great deal to him — and he hoped that it would mean a great deal to me.

I glanced away. Angel went back to work. From that moment onward, when I brought Angel boulders (of increasing size, at his request), I played no other pranks. I spent my free time wandering instead, thinking and trying not to think; searching for some other form of distraction.

On the third afternoon, after bringing Angel one final boulder via wheelbarrow, I chose to express my feelings in Shakespearian-style poetry. I sat on a snowbank overlooking the stream as it struggled between chunks of ice, and I pulled a leatherbound journal from my satchel — along with a clickie pen. I often carried both with me on my travels, recording observations or fleeting thoughts or memories — and, occasionally, poetry:

_I doth gladly welcome shadowed night,  
>To gallop 'neath the silv'ry light;<br>To find my wings o'er wild lands,  
>Beyond the grasp of wind's unseen hands;<br>Lost in wistful notes of freedom's song,  
>Found by the end of summers long;<br>In crystalline depths of pristine lakes,  
>Before the dawn o'er the mountain wakes.<em>

_For one last kiss of the evening star,  
>Before the sun doth perfection mar;<br>I linger here for one sweet moment more,  
>And cling to hope 'til hope's no more;<br>For as smoked glass breaks when struck by gold,  
>So winter flees from brash light so bold;<br>To hide away and sleep a while,  
>And bury secrets behind a smile.<em>

_Hopeless dreams dwell in darkness and fear,  
>Beyond reach of daylight's truthful sneer;<br>Which reveals fancies as ghostly things,  
>With all the substance of fairy wings;<br>Casting light on what wishes ignored,  
>Slaying lies with the mightiest sword;<br>Bringing clarity to tortured mind,  
>And insight to hearts that stumbled blind.<em>

_True love kindled cannot be undone,  
>Eternal flame that outlasts the sun;<br>For though sunset fades behind the hill,  
>Sunlight and love are remembered still.<br>A love that never was slips away,  
>A heart that breaks must decline to stay;<br>These sad secrets I shall never tell;  
>I simply smile and bid thee farewell.<em>

It was a wish: I wanted to leave. I wanted it to be that simple. But nothing, where Angel was concerned, was simple. It never had been.

The banging and clanging from the bedroom continued for three days. Then, abruptly, it stopped.

That evening, Angel and I shared a meal of venison and mashed potatoes. An odd tension hung in the air, as if the cave still echoed with hammer strokes. We spoke little during the meal, and I was glad when it was over. As I rose to clear the dishes, Angel placed a hand on my arm and smiled at me.

"It's time," he said, and a tremor went through my nerves. Anxiety flared to life in Angel's blue eyes, and I suddenly realized that the tension in the room had not emanated solely from me.

My breathing shook. "I... um..." I freed my arm from his grasp and nervously twisted my fingers together. "Before we go, I just wanted to apologize for... all the guessing I did. I should have respected your wishes."

A gentle smile curved his lips as he rose, and he touched my cheek.

"Dearest Violar," he murmured in a velvety voice that would've melted stone. "I enjoyed every minute of it. I wasn't angry in the least — even if there were times when I worried that your magnificent intellect would have puzzled out my grand secret."

I flushed at the compliment, aware that we were standing very close together in the candlelight — and that Angel's emotions had changed, and that I was the focal point of both the change and each emotion. How easily he wove his spell around me — and confused me, all in the same moment: For days, he'd avoided me completely. It wasn't just the surprise project that had kept him occupied. It was something else — something intangible; something that had made it easy to believe that he'd lost interest in pursuing me. I'd thought it was due to the things I'd confessed — that something had given him pause.

Now I felt as if some kind of wall had tumbled down inside of him, and nothing held him back. It frightened me clear through.

"You're trembling," Angel observed quietly.

His fingers remained on my cheek, subtly caressing. I found it hard to speak, instead lifting beseeching eyes to his.

_Leave me alone,_ I wanted to beg him. _Please, please let me be. You don't know what you're doing to me._

A little humor softened his intense gaze. "Are you afraid I mangled the sculpture as badly as all that?"

That wrung a choked laugh from me, and I almost burst into tears. I had to tell him. I had to tell him now — before we walked into that room; before he gave me a gift that he considered precious — a gift he'd poured hours of labor into. It had to be now.

Mustering my courage, I managed a rough whisper. "Angel—"

His fingers suddenly pressed against my lips, paralyzing them.

"Don't," he warned huskily. "Not yet."

I shivered. "But... but I—"

"No," he insisted, his blue eyes taking on a pleading quality that tugged at my very soul. "You have to wait. Please... Trust me."

I stared at him, skittish and hesitant. I couldn't ignore the look on his face or his gentle touch, but I grew more and more frightened — and frustrated. Tears abruptly spilled down my cheeks. "You don't understand..."

Angel scowled with agony and brushed his thumbs over my tear tracks. "I think _you_ are the one who doesn't understand," he replied, emphasizing each word carefully. When I looked at him in wary puzzlement, he gulped. "Violar, Zephina... Please. I know I haven't given you any reason to trust me in the past, and I am so sorry for that. I can't change the past, and I wish I could — more than anything — because I hurt you. You have no real right to trust me now, and I don't blame you for that. But I _need_ you to understand something, just this once... and after that, I won't ask you to trust me again."

His voice quavered, and his eyes glistened unnaturally. He was crying.

My hearts ripped. "Angel..."

I reached for his cheek, but he turned his face aside. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

"Don't," he ordered harshly. Then he grabbed my hand and kissed it with the ferocity of a drowning man. "Don't comfort me — not now. You'd comfort a murderer, if he fell at your feet and wept — bless your tender heart. But I need you to face the truth right now, and the truth is that I've hurt you — badly."

Even my soul trembled in fright, but I couldn't move. I felt exactly like a terrified wild animal caught in a trap — but I refused to try and escape. I scraped up a pathetic whisper. "I'm sorry..."

Angel's scowl darkened, and he crushed me against him, resting his jaw against my hair. "God, Violar... why are you sorry? _I'm_ the one who should be sorry, not you."

I sniffled. "Because... you shouldn't have to... to bear the burden of my feelings."

Angel heaved a deep sigh and stroked the back of my head, softening the impact of his words. "Exactly. That's all you see — the burden of _your_ feelings. You can't see beyond that."

My voice cracked. "There's nothing else... to see."

He leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. "Then you're blind to the universe, sweetheart."

The heartfelt endearment broke my resolve, unleashing a raging torrent of pent-up tears. Angel gripped me tightly, and I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed. Pain stabbed my Danger Sense, but Angel wasn't about to release me — and I had no more strength to fight.

"Let it go," he encouraged, rubbing my back. "I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you..."

Shaking my head, I withdrew from his shoulder and reached up to cup his face in my hands. I managed a trembling smile through my tears.

"Angel," I breathed with a shuddering sigh. "By the mane... You are beautiful." I gazed wistfully at him. "Whatever happens, never forget that."

Those words had a profound effect on Angel. He sobered, then took my face in his hands — mirroring my gesture — and looked deeply into my eyes.

I was lost. In that moment, I surrendered everything — my fear, my uncertainty... everything I still needed to tell him.

Angel saw it. Ripples of emotion washed through my Danger Sense. Suddenly Angel leaned forward and kissed my forehead — passionately, then tenderly; again and again and again until I felt my hearts burn and ache. When I couldn't bear any more, I turned aside with a whimper of protest, and Angel pulled me close — and wrapped his wings around me.

Warmth and safety enveloped me in the sheltered white haven of his feathers. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes, resting my head on his shoulder — captured in the heavenly embrace of an angel.

I was reluctant to stir, and Angel was quiet for a long time. Finally he drew back enough to smile at me, though his blue eyes retained their intensity. I returned his gaze with a calm serenity that had seemed unthinkable only a few hours ago.

Angel cleared his throat. "Thank you... for trusting me."

I thought that over. I had been many things to Angel: His friend and companion, his healer, the one who saved his life, his secret love. But I had never trusted myself to him.

The revelation stunned me. I looked up at him, wondering why he'd noticed.

Maybe he could see me better than I'd thought.

Angel smiled again. "You ready for your present now?"

I nodded encouragingly, not trusting my voice at that moment. Instead I memorized the way he looked — his tender expression, the light glimmering in his blue eyes, his amazing smile, the soft aureole of candlelight that created a halo for his thick blond hair.

"Close your eyes."

The request caught me off-guard, and a giddy shiver ran along my nerves. Then I closed my eyes and felt Angel's wings slip away, and he took my hands securely in his. He led me forward, and I blindly followed, placing each step carefully on the uneven cave floor. I heard him push aside the deerskin curtain, and he drew me through the doorway. My Danger Sense charged with a riot of bright colors that denoted nervous excitement. We moved a short distance into the room and stopped.

"Okay, we're here. Open your eyes."

I chuckled, equally nervous and excited, and opened my eyes.

At first glance, the room looked exactly the way I remembered — except for three things. One was a misshapen lump in the middle of the floor, covered by a red and gold quilt pilfered from my junkyard stash. The second was positioned on the nightstand. It reminded me of a small rectangular shoebox hidden beneath a forest green cloth. The third was a wall hanging made of silk strips in red, gold, purple and blue.

My questioning gaze flew to Angel. "So this is the surprise? You've been redecorating?"

He grinned. "There's no need for more guessing, now that you're moments away from uncovering the truth." So saying, he swept an arm toward the object beneath the red and gold quilt. "Right this way, milady."

With a puzzled smile, I tentatively gripped the edge of the quilt and lifted it away. And burst out laughing.

All the rocks I'd brought him had been fashioned into a mountain, with the larger boulders forming the base and the smaller ones nearer the peak. Father Christmas and his team of reindeer rocks cheerfully rounded the left side of the mountain, and red ribbon traces decked with gold and silver bells adorned their antlers. Most hilariously of all, the rocks with faces were scattered along the mountainside: The suspicious one peered at Father Christmas, and the one with its tongue sticking out and the one with mad eyes were having a staring contest, while the shouting rock — which was all mouth and closed eyes — drew a shocked expression from my startled rock.

I giggled. "He must have something in his teeth!"

"It's a rock, so who knows how long it's been there," remarked Angel, folding his arms and chuckling.

Shaking my head, I turned to Angel. "You had this in mind all along?"

"No. Your creativity sparked my imagination, and you seemed stuck on the idea of a statue. I didn't want to disappoint you."

I smiled. "I'm not disappointed. This is amazing. It's like... a rock farm."

Angel laughed. "Well, as long as you like it. Because actually," he went on, sobering, "this is your real present."

He took my hand and drew me toward the wall hanging, then stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders — a remarkably protective gesture. I reached toward the multicolored silk strips, then hesitated and glanced back at Angel.

I heard him swallow. "Go ahead."

Suddenly apprehensive, I gripped the silk and pulled. It swept away from the wall in a liquid rush of color and dropped to the floor, and I gasped.

The wall was covered with writing.


	16. Cards On The Table

I stared in shock at the chiseled letters — each neat and precise. The words covered the entire wall in three neat rows. The characters swam before my eyes, and my breathing came short even before I read the first line:

_From the moment I set eyes on Zephina Wildfire, I knew she was special._

Violent trembling took hold of me. Angel's grip on my shoulders tightened as if to steady me, but a wild panic seized me. I tore out of his embrace and whirled to face him.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my voice shaking.

Angel looked stricken. "Violar, please..."

I backed away. "You did this because of what I wrote," I concluded.

Angel held both hands out to me. "It's the truth, Violar — every word of it."

"That's not how it happened," I stammered. "Whatever you're feeling now has... has somehow colored the past. If this..." I gestured at the wall as I backpedaled. "If any of this were true, Thea..." I swallowed hard and shook my head. I lost my voice. "There would have been no one else."

"Wait, Violar — wait, watch out!"

My foot landed on the shocked rock face and rolled, and I stumbled, arms flailing. I lurched sideways to avoid taking out the whole boulder mountain, but I lost my balance. I threw out my hands, expecting to crash headfirst into the wall...

Strong arms wrapped around my waist and yanked me back. Angel was there. I didn't know how he'd crossed the room so fast, but in an instant he held me securely against him. I buried my face in his shoulder, and I became aware that Angel's wings enfolded me — and they were shaking as badly as I was.

"Thank you," I managed.

His hand gently cupped the back of my head, and he spoke rapidly. "Violar, I'm sorry. Please trust me... You said you would... Just this once..."

I drew my head back without leaving his embrace, aware that I'd gone very pale.

"I can't do this," I choked.

Angel gazed at me, worried — but gentle. "Are you afraid?"

I bit my lip and nodded, dissolving into tears.

With a groan, Angel closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. "Don't cry, Violar. This is all my fault. I screwed up." He drew a sharp breath. "I know you're scared, Violar, and I don't blame you for that. I hurt you badly — worse than I know, even. Your heart is that tender, and I..." He swallowed. "I don't deserve you. I never have. I thought that maybe, if I explained the past, everything might make sense to you... but there's really nothing to explain. I screwed up, that's all there is to it, and I'm sorry."

I gulped back a fierce sniffle and nodded — but carefully. His forehead was heavy against mine. "I forgive you," I whispered.

He squeezed me tightly, then lifted his head and sighed. "Tell me what to do, Violar. I'll do anything you ask."

I touched his face with a shaking hand. "Shh... I can't think."

He obediently quieted. After a moment, I pulled out of his arms and turned away, brushing the back of my hand over my damp cheeks. I needed distance. Then I squared my shoulders and faced him resolutely. Angel looked rather forlorn, with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets and his wings flattened and his shoulders tense. His blue eyes held mute appeal and worried resignation.

He spoke first. "Take a minute and breathe, Violar. Those words aren't going anywhere."

I did as he instructed, then offered a statement of my own. "You spent a lot of effort working on this."

"Chipping letters into stone is harder than it looks."

I gave a slight smile, but when the expression wasn't returned, I set my features again. "I don't know what to do, Angel."

"Call me Warren."

I blinked, startled.

He shrugged. "You told me a few days ago that you wanted me to have a preference — that you wanted me to be decisive. I have grown more decisive in many areas of my life. I thought I'd add another to the list."

I nodded, remembering one of our most intense conversations by the fire. "Very well... Warren. Though I may slip up and forget from time to time."

He shrugged again. "That doesn't matter. I like it when you call me by either name. Now let me ask you a question." His sapphire gaze sharpened with leonine intensity. "Are you afraid of reading the writing on that wall because of the way I hurt you, or because you're afraid of falling in love?"

Hopelessly bewildered, I stared at him. "What?"

"You're not the only one who remembers that fireside conversation in fine detail, Violar."

"Y-you may remember it better than I do," I conceded nervously.

Angel ignored that. "You told me that you were afraid of falling in love because you watched love kill your mother."

"Ah... yes. Yes, that's right."

"And you wondered how that traumatic experience colored your relationships."

I nodded uneasily.

"Well," concluded Angel firmly, jerking his chin toward the wall. "Here's your chance to find out."

I shuddered. "There... there's a lot more at stake here."

"Tell me about it," muttered Angel, his brow furrowing. He looked straight at me, and my Danger Sense jolted. My eyes widened. Satisfaction reflected on Angel's face. "That's right. That's exactly what I mean. _You_ are at stake here, and... you mean everything to me."

I bit my lip. The atmosphere buzzed with electricity, and Angel kept his gaze locked with mine. After a charged moment, he continued.

"While I was chipping away at this wall for three days, I've had time to reflect on the past. You've never trusted me — not really. I can't blame you for that. I was hardly trustworthy. But I've changed, Violar: The man I am today is not the boy you knew back then. I still know how to have fun, but by God, I know the value of commitment — and of love. And I know the value of a woman who loved me so much that she'd have sacrificed everything for a fool, though God only knows why. I wouldn't have done as much for such an idiot—"

"Yes, you would have," I interjected. "That's the kind of heart you have, and you can't help that."

His glance frosted with a quelling look, then warmed with subtle gratitude as he went on. "Maybe you saw the potential of the man I could become, rather than the reality of who I was. You certainly discovered buried qualities in Pyro, of all people. Maybe it's a gift you have, though I'm sorry you had to waste it on men like Pyro and myself."

"Now that's not—"

He cut my protest short with a wave of his hand. "Hear me out, Violar — please. You're too much of a healer to see things clearly when it comes to people you love. But there's more to it than that, I suspect. I think you use concern for other people to guard yourself from the truth — even from love."

I doubt my eyes could have gotten any wider. "That's preposterous!"

"Is it?" Angel stepped forward, his gaze challenging. "You claim to believe that people can change, yet when you have a concrete example standing right in front of you, you ignore the evidence because you're scared of getting close to him. You keep deferring to the past, bringing up the way things were—"

"The past matters!" I burst out, pushed beyond all reason. "What happened then matters. Circumstances have thrown us together. I saved your life. That'd cause anyone to see a centaur differently!"

Angel's voice held an edge. "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that if it were Thea living out here, and not me, and she saved your life and cared for you, you'd have fallen in love with her!"

Angel's eyebrows shifted, as if to acknowledge a valid point. "That would imply that she possesses your level of caring and self-sacrifice."

"Well, maybe she does!"

He laughed dryly. "I think we both know where the boundaries of reality end and fiction begins."

"Anyone can rise to an occasion and be a hero."

"Only if their hearts are in the right place. Adversity reveals what hearts are made of." He paused. "Actually, that sounds like something you'd have said. I wonder if you said it, and maybe I tucked it away and forgot about it until now."

I drew a breath and felt my eyes burn. "The point is, Warren, that I'm not special. I never have been, and certainly not to you."

His wings twitched, and he took another tack. "You said a moment ago that the past matters."

"It does," I retorted, "and _our_ past speaks volumes."

"And you don't know the half of it."

I stared at him. He returned the steady gaze, his hands still in his pockets, his forward posture subtly challenging. Angel was right about one thing, at least: He _had_ changed. I'd never known him to be so determined, so bold, or so solid in his convictions. Thea had rolled him over and strung him into her puppet. But from the way Angel was confronting me, I doubted Thea would have found him so easy to control now.

And I had been wrong about one thing, at least: Angel _could_ see me — perhaps better than I could see myself. The realization was unsettling in one way and heartening in another: Everyone needs to be challenged, and Angel had deliberately placed such a crossroads in front of me. And he wasn't backing down.

Angel must have seen a change come over me, because his voice quieted. "You've had two years to think and re-think and overthink our interactions to death. You've come up with a lot of explanations about my behavior." He held up both hands. "You've done an excellent job of it, don't get me wrong. But..." The hands returned to their pockets. "You don't know my side of the story, and you'll likely won't find the courage to... to _be loved by me_ until you do. I already know that you love me, Violar, and I..." His gaze faltered for the first time. "That means more to me than I can say."

I swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. "Thank you," I ventured finally.

His blue eyes came back to mine. "No, thank _you_, Violar. You're a treasure, and your love is a powerful gift. The man who has your love can change the world."

I clasped my hands nervously and didn't dare respond. A compliment of that magnitude was worth far more than words.

Angel's expression softened enough to permit a little smile. "But, in order for me to love you in return, you'll have to lower some of those iron defenses around your beautiful heart. Before you do that, you'll have to trust me. Before you can trust me, you need to reconcile with the past. And you can't do it with me standing here, watching you like a hawk." His wings twitched. "No pun intended."

My throat went dry. I tried to reply, but my voice escaped me.

"You have to make the choice on your own," Angel explained, as if concerned that I didn't quite grasp what he'd been trying to tell me, "without any influence, pressure or... or _persuasion_ from me. You and I have quite a profound impact on each other, and if you can't think straight at this very crucial stage, you'll wonder if you made the right decision later on down the road. There is enough uncertainty between us already — wouldn't you agree?"

I nodded unsteadily.

Angel took a step toward me, then checked himself. "I'll be outside the cave, Violar, but I won't be far — in case you need me. Before I go, however, there's one thing that I have to tell you... something I should have told you a long time ago." His blue eyes riveted on mine. "I love you, Zephina Wildfire."

I trembled and blinked back tears. "I love you too, Warren. I... thank you."

He lowered his head, then tightened his jaw, scuffing his boot toe against the ground. "I also want you to know that... no matter what your decision is... I'll support you. I've presented my case... I think they were solid arguments," he added, glancing at me for confirmation. I nodded, and he continued. "You're welcome to... to talk more, if you need to. But I think that you'll find all the answers to your past there." He glanced meaningfully at the wall, then back at me. "The answers to your future will be waiting for you out there."

He headed for the doorway, then hesitated. Our eyes met, and he smiled. I offered a grateful nod. Then he made his exit through the deerskin curtain, and I heard his footsteps cross the living room. They paused at the doorstep, then continued, crunching in loose powder snow. There came a powerful rush of feathers, and I heard nothing more.

All the strength left me. I moved to the bed and sat down, emotionally exhausted. It occurred to me that Angel had never said so much to me since that fateful day when he shared his life's story — a moment that had driven a wedge between us, because he'd never allowed me very close to him afterwards.

Now all his cards were on the table.

And I had a choice to make.

It didn't take me very long. I already knew the right course of action. Some part of me quailed at the prospect of facing my deeply rooted fears, but another part — a part that rapidly gained strength — was overwhelmed with joy.

He loved me. Angel loved me. He'd looked me straight in the eye and spoken the very words I'd longed to hear for two years — and then he'd embellished them.

And I'd had the opportunity, finally, to declare my love for him.

Tears blurred my vision, and I glanced the ceiling. "Thank you," I whispered, choking back a sob.

Only a few weeks ago, I'd thought that Angel was gone — that I would never have the chance to tell him how much I loved him. Only in my wildest dreams had I dared hope that Angel would be the one to make the first move, and that my declaration would be a response. Both wishes had come true.

Great responsibility settled onto my shoulders: I had to act quickly, before a miraculous second chance slipped through my fingers. Angel loved me; that knowledge would give me all the courage I needed.

Taking an old couch cushion from the bed, I approached the wall and stood before the words that Angel had meticulously hammered and chiseled into existence. He'd chosen to carve his story onto the stone wall, just as I had done. He deliberately met me step for step.

I dropped the cushion to the floor and sat down on it, steeled my nerves, then looked up and began to read.


	17. The Other Side Of The Story

_From the moment I set eyes on Zephina Wildfire, I knew she was special._

_It wasn't just because she was a beautiful palomino centaur trotting down a street in New York City. Had she been an ordinary woman, she'd have stood out from the crowd with her striking good looks and the air of nobility about her — like a queen among commoners. Even though she looked lost and uncertain, she walked with the confident grace of a warrior and a leader — perfect qualities for one of the X-Men, if she wasn't one already._

_I took a bullet for her. She mended the wound with a tender touch that healed deeper than skin, and she cried real tears over me. She displayed an immediate insight into my soul that made me feel like hiding away, but she drew me out with an irresistible sweetness that made me miss my mother: Zephina reminded me of the way my mother treated me before she found out I was a mutant._

_In one afternoon, over a Chinese picnic lunch, Zephina changed me. I found myself telling her stories from my past that I'd never shared with anyone. She was remarkably perceptive. She quickly put the pieces together, gently confronted me with truths that I couldn't ignore, then soothed me when my pain came to the surface. I'd never been so open with anyone, and it scared me. I wouldn't admit that. But it was a soul-cleansing experience at the same time. For one moment, I glimpsed a path to completion, to wholeness. That path undeniably led straight toward the beautiful Zephina._

_I wanted her. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat — not even with my legendary metabolism. I couldn't think. I couldn't work. I had all the focus of a zombie at the office. The other X-Men noticed; Logan called me a featherbrained moron and Scott asked why I had my head in the clouds all of a sudden. I was almost too distracted to take offense at those and other similarly sarcastic remarks. I had to stay away from her just because I couldn't get her off my mind. That was why I avoided her and became suddenly absent from Xavier's Institute and took to haunting local bars._

_My attraction to her was almost uncontrollable. That disturbed me. Warren Worthington III was rich, powerful, sophisticated, and in control — except when it came to keeping a lid on the stupid puns flying around Xavier's. I had women when I wanted them, especially when I gave them everything they wanted. But I never needed them. Not in the way I needed her. Something about her was causing me to suffer the beginnings of an epic meltdown._

_For a man who usually got what he wanted, I was surprisingly lackadaisical when it came to pursuing her. But I was a businessman — a successful executive. I'd already calculated the odds of winning her heart and determined that they were stacked against me. I dropped hints and made subtle overtures in hopes that she might show some sign of capitulation. I even tried a handful of my off-color jokes, which she didn't appreciate. But I took no real risks. I couldn't afford a loss of that magnitude. I could only afford to tease and joke and indulge in wishful thinking._

_On another level, I could never deserve a woman like Zephina. She made her feelings about my vagabond philosophies crystal clear, and she didn't bother sugarcoating words that no one else would've dared say to my face. The philanderous lifestyle I'd tried to convince myself was "normal" was shallow and empty to a woman like her, and she made me see that. What she said about settling for oases and giving up everything to obtain paradise rocked my world. Not that it mattered. I'd already settled for too many oases to qualify for paradise anymore. And I didn't care. I was fine with my life and the way things were. I accepted that some of us are constructed of better moral fiber than others. Some people are born lucky. I wasn't. I'd been thrown a rough lot and I hadn't always made the best of it. So if I could enjoy my less-than-perfect life, then bring on the oases. Nobody lives forever, anyway._

_But it wasn't even as selfish as all that. I honestly thought that a good woman like Zephina would be better off without me. Why should she waste her time and energy on someone like me? Why would she even bother? There were a lot of better men in the world who could truly appreciate and cherish her. It was the most awkwardly unselfish thing a selfish man ever did, but lack of practice caused that unselfish gallant to fall flat on his face._

_I underestimated her love._

_I never dreamed Zephina would want me. Not really. Shortly before I met her, I'd sworn off women for awhile — having barely escaped a tumultuous relationship with my feathers intact. I was still fending off angry friends and relatives of the ex-girlfriend in question when Zephina came into the picture. But that centaur rattled me to the point that within a month, deluded by alcohol and beguiled by a skilled flirt who obviously wanted to seduce me, I made arguably the worst mistake of my life._

_Zephina took the news hard. I'd known she would. I hadn't been eager to tell her. But Zephina was so crushed that for one fleeting moment I dared hope that she carried a torch for me. I gently pressed her, and to this day I don't know what I would have done if she'd told me the truth. Zephina bore her heartbreak so courageously that I never knew for certain. She didn't lie; she gave excellent reasons for why I shouldn't have taken up with a new girlfriend — particularly one like Thea. She was right._

_But I guessed the truth. I could see it in her eyes. With each passing day, the brightness in those beautiful eyes dimmed, and I knew I was to blame. I tried to comfort her, but my own stupidity hamstrung me and hurt Zephina worse._

_I wanted — needed — to be close to her. I sought her out. She was the only thing that made any sense — an anchor in a world gone mad. She kept me grounded with her words of wisdom. If I'd had more courage, I'd have broken off my toxic relationship with Thea. But I didn't want to hurt Thea. And I felt guilty about the choices I'd made. As I told Zephina, I'd made my bed. It was too late to back out._

_When I couldn't bear to put Zephina through any more anguish, I left both her and Thea and flew for no particular reason with no particular destination in mind. I drank, I worked, I drank some more. When I'd taken all the abuse I could handle from Thea or ran out of alcohol or lost the heart to fly, I turned to the Narnian centaur for a dose of comfort, a fleeting sense of peace, and a moment's pretense that my crazy life had magically stabilized. Invariably Zephina also managed to make me laugh. Her delightful wit eased the burden of my reality._

_We drifted apart as my new girlfriend became increasingly demanding. I visited Zephina when I could get away, but I lost track of her for weeks at a time. Then, one February morning, a student raced up to me with news that would have stopped an ordinary human's heart: Zephina was trapped in a burning house with the villainous mutant, Pyro._

_I flew for all I was worth, praying that I would get there in time, terrified that only smoking rubble would be left when I arrived. I found a ramshackle house engulfed in flames, and she was unconscious on the second floor. I managed to lift her charred body out the bedroom window before the house exploded. And I thought she was dead._

_Frantic and more frightened than I'd ever been, I tried desperately to give her all my healing blood, to pull her back to life... but I was too late. She didn't stir. My beautiful centaur was gone. I'd failed. I'd lost everything._

_I blamed myself for losing communication with her. I hadn't even known she'd been acquainted with Pyro. And I should have known. I had a responsibility to her. I saved total strangers from peril, I enslaved myself to Thea's whims... and what had they ever given me? Zephina, who gave me everything, had received nothing in return. I couldn't even save her life when she needed me most. All I'd ever done was let her down, and my negligence had resulted in her death. If I'd thought for one moment that I could have hurled myself from that rooftop and actually succeeded in killing myself, I would have done so in a broken heartbeat. That's how devastated I was to lose her._

_Then, wonder of wonders, she opened her eyes and called my name. She was alive. She'd come back to me. I thought I would tear apart with joy. Delirium and shock turned our reunion into a nightmare, and I'll never forget the anger and raw agony on her face when she discovered that she was alive. But I now know why she accused me of playing God: She loved me, and the pain of returning to life without a Pyro who loved her and with an Angel who apparently didn't was too much. I can't blame her for that._

_But Zephina had had such a profound impact on me that her words cut deep. I took the distraught centaur back to Xavier's and avoided her, burying myself in work and glasses of Scotch and expensive brandy. That turned out to be the second worst mistake of my life, because I lost her again._

_All of a sudden, in the space of a single day, the X-Men were gone — mansion and all — as if some cosmic force had erased them from time itself. I wandered the skies, looking for them. All the while, I was looking for Zephina. And I couldn't find her. Instead I was captured by Sentinals and imprisoned._

_Locked up for months in a medical laboratory, I had nothing to do except think of her and reflect on things she'd told me. I would have done anything to see her again. Anything. I even took to talking to her Aslan, whether or not he would bother listening to a messed-up mutant like me. I told Aslan that if he let me find her again, I would change. I would never go back to my old life._

_My prayer was answered._

_Now I am a man with another chance, a new life, a brighter future: Zephina is here, and to my amazement, she still loves me. What intense devotion, to love a hopeless wreck for two years. She saved my life, and she saved me in countless other ways — even long before now._

_Zephina, you have been my closest friend for so long. I have never met a woman like you. And I never will. No one ever cared to understand me the way you did. You opened my eyes to see beyond myself, and by your example, you made me believe in goodness and true love. Your influence left a permanent mark on my soul and made me a better man. You have given me so much, and I am forever grateful. I want to give you everything, if I can. And I think I can, now, because you make me believe that anything is possible. _

_This time, I will protect your honor. I solemnly swear to be your perfect gentleman. I know you kept your distance from me two years ago because of my tainted reputation. And you should have. Even then, I respected and admired you for your resolve. But I promise you, Zephina, you'll never have to fear my intentions again._

_I've made dreadful mistakes, and I hurt a lot of people — including you. Maybe mostly you. I wish I could go back in time and start over and change everything, but I can only alter my future. In the past, I was a drifter with no home and no destination. Now I have both. You are both to me._

_Zephina, you are a wonderful, strong, sweet, courageous woman. You stood by me through the worst of times. Now, I humbly ask for the opportunity to stand by you forever — in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, until death do us part. I'll make it all up to you, if I can._

_You are my paradise, Zephina. I love you, and I always will._

_Yours truly,_

_Warren_


	18. Someone Like You

An hour later, I drew aside the deerskin door at the cave entrance and stepped into the twilight snow.

"Warren?"

I cleared my throat and rubbed away a few tear streaks, then smoothed my hair with my fingers. I hoped I looked presentable — not like a centaur who'd spent the last hour sobbing on the stone floor. More than likely, I looked stunned. Angel's letter had left me breathless.

I ventured a few more steps beyond the cave. Sunset turned the winter trees black and gold amid a thick rolling blanket of sparkling white.

"Warren? Are you out here?"

A spike in my Danger Sense made me turn and look up. Angel was perched on the high bough of a leafless tree, silhouetted against a pale orange sky and balanced on all fours like Nightcrawler — but with his huge wings half-spread, as if he'd been sitting there and had just leaned forward eagerly, his blue eyes riveted on me. I smiled when I saw him.

"Warren, will you please come down here? I..." Suddenly self-conscious, I clasped my hands and averted my gaze. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Like a bronzed statue that came suddenly to life, Angel swung off the branch and dropped, flaring his wings to catch his fall. He landed with a few running strides and stopped a short distance away from me.

Tension thrummed between us. Angel stuffed his hands into his pockets and gazed at me with a shyness that tugged my hearts. His breath came in thick puffs in the cold, and I wondered if he'd dressed warm enough in his jeans, the forest-green turtleneck I'd altered for him, and the deerskin vest I'd made for him. His wings quivered slightly — but whether from the chilly air or nervousness, I couldn't tell.

"Hey, V." Angel offered a tentative smile. "So you... read the wall?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

"What did you think of it?"

"It was... enlightening."

He glanced at the sun. "It took you awhile to read it. An hour, I think. Was it too much?"

I lowered my gaze. "I read it three times."

"Oh." He burrowed deeper into his pockets. "And you still have questions?"

I nodded. "How come... I mean... How come you never told me that... you wanted to call me Zephina?"

Relief eased over his features. "Was that obvious?"

"Well... I was surprised that you referred to me by my given name throughout your letter."

"Hmm, I see." He shrugged and grew thoughtful. "Zephina is a lovely name, but I did it more for you than for me. We had a brief discussion about names and masks once, and that conversation stuck with me. I know why you go by Violar because you told me. It was to keep your mother alive." When I nodded affirmation, he continued, "Angel was my mask. I want us to face each other with no masks, Violar... Zephina. There have been enough misunderstandings between the two of us to last a lifetime already, and I don't know about you, but I'm ready for the confusion to end."

I nodded again. "So am I, Warren. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Anything else?"

"Yes." My voice submerged momentarily, but I dragged it through the threat of tears and forced it to cooperate. "Why didn't you tell me all of this in person?"

At that, Angel laughed ruefully. He rubbed the back of his neck and scuffed his boot in the snow. "Ah, good one. I've been dying to tell you... for days... well, longer than that, actually... but I wanted to wait for the right moment, and I had to tell you in the right way. I needed to tell you everything at once and make sure I didn't leave anything out. You didn't trust me—"

"Warren!" I burst out, starting toward him. I stopped an arm's length away and stared at him incredulously. "I _wanted_ to trust you. By the mane, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

His blue eyes wavered with uneasy reflection. "Because I couldn't tell if you wanted... me."

I breathed a slightly hysterical laugh. "You didn't know that?"

"No." He stepped forward, and I gasped when he gently caught the nape of my neck, stroking it. "Every time I got this close to you, you pulled away. I wondered if did it because you questioned my motives or because you wanted nothing to do with me. I wondered if you were still in love with Pyro. I wondered if you hated me for the hell I put you through two years ago. I wondered... a lot of things."

I gulped, distracted by his touch. "I see. Did I... manage to clear all that up for you?"

"During our last discussion, you did," he answered. His hand stilled on the back of my neck, and he gazed at me in earnest. "But instinct already told me that a long time ago. Back then, I was just too... cautious, shall we say, to risk everything on a feeling."

Even though his fingers were motionless, electricity from his touch held me paralyzed. "Cautious," I answered carefully, "or cowardly?"

To my surprise, that made him smile. "Call it cowardice, if you like — the same cowardice that stopped me from pursuing you two years ago. Zephina," he went on, and the way he said my name — my real name — sent a shiver down my spine. "Two years ago, I couldn't afford to gamble my heart on someone like you and lose. My self image was barely intact after my parents' rejection. If an amazing woman had turned me away..." He shook his head and let the sentence die.

"You weren't worried about other women turning you away," I couldn't help saying, and my tone sharpened with a bitter edge.

He winced. "Other women were more easily impressed than you, Zephina." I bit back a startled giggle, and Angel reluctantly smiled and shrugged. "Well, they were. I flashed a little cash, showed a little wing; added a grin and a well-placed compliment or two... and they fell to the floor and worshiped me. My popularity was an added bonus, also. Women liked it that my limelight fell on whoever clung to my elbow."

I glanced aside and blushed. "Cash meant nothing to me back then, since only Narnian coin seemed like real currency to me, and I would have been more pleased with obscurity. But I'll admit, your wings _are_ spectacular." He laughed then — a hearty, genuine laugh that warmed my hearts. I smiled up at him and added sincerely, "Your compliments were beautiful, and they meant everything to me. I hung on every word, though sometimes I couldn't tell if you were just well-practiced with charming speeches and skilled at putting a woman exactly where you wanted her, or if you were a hopeless romantic, or if I really meant all that to you."

Angel grinned. "In all honesty, it was a combination of the three."

Delighted that he'd told me the truth, I beamed at him. "And I tried my best to reciprocate."

"I remember that very well, and it meant a great deal to me."

"I was also trying, however subtly, to get your attention."

"I wondered, but I couldn't be sure."

"I mean... It wasn't just a ploy to get your attention. Not by half. I meant every word, Warren. I meant it with all my heart. Could you tell?"

He pursed his lips and nodded, his expression conflicted.

"But... you always brushed it off. Did you not place much stock in my praise?"

"I didn't, because I couldn't embrace it as truth. Zephina," he said earnestly, "when people hold beliefs about themselves, mere words can't change those beliefs. I harbored grief and guilt and trauma and loss. I knew what my life had been like; you didn't. I knew what choices I'd made; you didn't. You were on the outside looking in. You were idealistic and determined to see the best in me — which was extremely flattering, by the way. But it was also not reality. It was like I was standing in the pouring rain and you were trying to convince me that, just above the clouds, the sun was shining... and that if we just rolled away the clouds, we could actually have ourselves some pleasant afternoon weather. You didn't know much of my story. Perceptive though you were, I was convinced if you'd probed any deeper into my blackened soul, you'd turn around and leave. And I would've encouraged you to run away even faster."

Defenses inside of me crumbled. I lifted my hand and touched his cheek, moving a little closer. The sunset world around us faded into reverent silence. "Do you honestly believe I would have abandoned you?"

His fingers twitched against my neck. "No," he conceded quietly. "But I wasn't worthy of you, either. I didn't deserve a girlfriend like you."

Without warning, joy sprung inside of me. "I knew you felt that way," I declared eagerly. "I was right! I _knew_ it. I could feel it. I tried so hard to dissuade you from that line of thinking—"

Angel groaned, then chuckled, shaking his head. "I knew you were. I talked myself out of the logic of it..."

"By the mane of Aslan," I cried. _"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"_

Angel looked downcast. "I'm very sorry, Violar. It just seemed so... impossible... that you could want me. Not that it would have been the first time I'd been victimized by my own wishful thinking."

Tenderness knotted in my throat, and I brought my other hand up, holding his face and looking into his beautiful blue eyes. "Sweet Angel, I loved you from the moment I met you on that New York sidewalk. I tried to tell myself that it was crazy... that _I_ was crazy... that I couldn't know you so completely after one glance into your eyes... that I wasn't a creature who would fall in love at first sight... but after I bandaged your wing, and burst into tears, and you took me into your arms... I knew it then. I couldn't deny it after that. It was hopeless. I couldn't get you out of my head, either."

His eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

I nodded enthusiastically, glowing. "You don't know how long I've wanted to tell you that!"

Emotion collided in his warm gaze. "Zephina," he breathed, taking my face between his strong, gentle hands, "one look was all it took for me, too."

My nerves tangled up. "But Warren," I stammered. "Why... me?"

"I don't know," he answered with simple candor, smiling at me. "You were special, Zephina — a rare gem. Why do you think I let you care for my wing when I'd been shot?"

I blinked. "You didn't have much choice. You were losing a lot of blood."

That made him laugh. "Zephina, I'm one of the X-Men. I've been through much worse battles. If I were temporarily incapable of flying, I usually found a hideout until my wing had repaired itself, then plunged right back into the fray. Instead," he went on, grinning boyishly, "I rushed back to Xavier's and let _you_ take care of it. I wanted your touch, Violar. I wanted to be close to you. I wasn't in as bad of shape as I let on. I'm a little surprised that you never figured out my motives."

I choked on a giggle. "I was right. You _are_ incorrigible."

His eyes sparkled like sapphires. "It would've taken a lot more than one little bullet wound to stop me, but you didn't know that. I took advantage of that fact."

I laughed again. "Thank you," I said with genuine affection.

He grinned. "Thank _you_, actually." Then he searched my gaze and added seriously, "I didn't feel at liberty to ask it of you then, but I never wanted you to take your hand off my wing."

A deep sigh escaped me. "Warren Worthington, if you had but said the word, I would have stayed right there on the carpet, stroking your wing for hours. And I didn't feel at liberty to ask..."

He caressed my cheek, his expression radiant. "If I'd known what you wanted, I would have asked you first. God... I had no idea. You were an excellent actress, Zephina. Worthy of an Academy Award. I felt something intense from you, but outwardly, you betrayed very little..."

My hearts cracked, and so did my voice. "Hiding the truth from you took every ounce of strength I had. I loved you so much, Angel... Warren..."

His blue eyes ignited with fire.

"I loved you then, I love you now," he rasped, and in an instant, his warm lips captured mine. I groaned and pressed into him, sliding my arms around his neck and returning his kiss with two years' worth of pent-up ardor and desperate love. Something broke inside of Angel, and with an answering groan, his arms tightened around my back and the kiss became fierce, demanding, stormy, wild...

I melted in his embrace, returning fire with fire even as the flames consumed me.

Abruptly he broke away with a hoarse laugh. "Zephina," he murmured reverently. His blue eyes were as deep as a twilight ocean. "I should have done that a long time ago."

I struggled to dredge clear thought from the warm whirlpool that had been my mind. "Mhmm, you should have. Long... overdue. You owe me."

His deep chuckle made my nerves sing. "Perhaps you can put me on a monthly payment plan."

Laughing, I nuzzled his cheek. "I'll do that, sweetheart. Only payments should come daily, I think."

"I don't care. I'll pay anything you ask, as often as you want," he breathed against my skin, pressing soft kisses along my jaw.

My hearts ached, and I traced my fingers along the side of his face. "I love you, Warren," I whispered.

He dipped his head and kissed my throat. "You've proved that for the last two years. I, however, have some catching up to do."

I whimpered and leaned my forehead into his thick blond hair. "We have so much to talk about..."

I felt his smile like sunlight in my Danger Sense. "We have time now, love," he assured me. "I'm not going anywhere."

I sighed deeply. "Thank Aslan for that."

"Meanwhile," he went on, lifting his head and smiling at me, "we have to make up for lost time."

"Mmm," I agreed, smiling back.

His kissed me again — long and tenderly. That kiss shattered dreams and what little experience I had, surpassing all of it as Angel patiently led me deeper into the foreign dance to an ancient love song. I buried my fingers in his hair and responded with such intensity that tears welled up and poured down my face. And when he drew back several moments later, I saw that his blue eyes were also soft and misty.

I reached up to brush away his tears as he brushed away mine, and I couldn't stop smiling at him.

"Thank you, Warren," I said quietly. He gave me a questioning look. "For risking everything to love me."

He caught my hand and kissed my knuckles. "Thank _you_ for risking everything to accept it."

I lurched forward and hugged him tightly. Angel returned the embrace, and we held each other in the midst of a wintry forest — no longer refugees, no longer alone. Angel wrapped his wings around me, and I sighed with contentment. Light streamed through his white feathers as if we were standing in a pure alabaster cathedral. We had been through so much, both separately and together — and we had survived. Now we were in love — truly in love. A new life was unfolding in a new and suddenly beautiful world.

"Want to go back inside?" wondered Angel presently. He kissed the top of my head.

I burrowed against his chest. "No... I want to stay here... with you."

Angel chuckled and stroked my hair. "The magic will follow us wherever we go, love. And there is one other thing that I want to share with you."

With a soft groan, I relented. Then I gave a cry of surprise when Angel picked me up, and I laughed as he carried me toward the cave.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"Not at all," I answered eagerly. "It's rather a thrill for a thousand-pound centaur to be carried around as if she weighs nothing. And I don't want to leave your arms."

He laughed and squeezed me affectionately as he brought me over the cave threshold, then headed into the bedroom. There, standing before the wall covered with confessions of poignant truth, he set me down. He indicated the green cloth on the nightstand with a subtle gesture.

"I have one more gift for you," Angel said.

I gripped his hand, unwilling to let go of him, and pulled the cloth away from the rectangular box — revealing an old-fashioned black and silver radio.

"Oh," I breathed, surprised and uncertain. I twisted one of the dials experimentally. "Does it work?"

"Yes. It still has batteries in it. Here, allow me." Angel turned another knob, and the resulting blast of static forced me to back away and rub my sensitive ears. Angel continued tweaking dials until the static diminished, and a faint melody emerged from the noise. Then he raised the volume, and a sweet love song filled the cave.

Straightening, Angel turned toward me and held out his hand, his eyes glowing like blue coals. "Dance with me, Zephina."

I caught my breath at his velvety tone. "I'd be delighted," I replied, accepting his hand.

Angel drew me into his embrace, and we swayed together in slow time with the music.

_I peer through windows,  
>Watch life go by,<br>Dream of tomorrow,  
>And wonder why<br>The past is holding me,  
>Keeping life at bay,<br>I wander lost in yesterday;  
>Wanting to fly, but scared to try...<em>

_But if someone like you  
>Found someone like me,<br>Then suddenly  
>Nothing would ever be the same,<br>My heart would take wing  
>And I'd feel so alive<br>If someone like you found me..._

I looked into Angel's deep blue eyes, and he gazed back at me. Neither of us could smile. The moment was too intense for that. We continued dancing as Christiane Noll sang the story of our lives.

_So many secrets  
>I've longed to share,<br>All I have needed  
>Is someone there,<br>To help me see a world  
>I've never seen before,<br>A love to open every door,  
>To set me free<br>So I can soar..._

_If someone like you  
>Found someone like me,<br>Then suddenly_

_Nothing would ever be the same,  
>There'd be a new way to live,<br>A new life to love,  
>If someone like you found me...<em>

The song drifted to an end, but still Angel and I danced. I couldn't look away from his captivating blue eyes. Another song followed in its wake, but I scarcely heard the lyrics over Angel's whispers.

"You may think those words were meant for you, love, but you're not the only one who peered through windows and had secrets to share. And you're the one who taught me to fly. From the time I jumped off the thirty-second floor of my father's tower until the moment I met you, all I did was fall."

I swallowed hard. "Sweetheart," I whispered back. "I think we taught each other to fly."

A soft smile drifted over his lips. "There is a famous quote about each of us being angels with only one wing, and that only together, we can fly. I think it accurately describes us."

"I agree, Warren. And I like that quote — a lot."

"I never appreciated it until now," Angel admitted ruefully. "I didn't like being equated with my namesake."

I smiled. "I remember. I, on the other hand, _deliberately_ listened to songs about angels and read every angel book I could get my hands on. I was completely besotted by angels — by one Angel, in particular."

He looked surprised, then taken aback. "I never knew that."

"I never told you," I replied, grinning. "And I never showed you my large collection of angel pins."

A startled laugh burst from him. "Your what?"

"Angel pins. They were small enough to keep dozens in the top drawer of my armoire at Xavier's."

Boyish laughter warmed the cave — and my hearts. Without changing the rhythm of our dance, Angel suddenly pulled me close and hugged me tightly. "What a treasure you are, Zephina. I wish I could have seen them."

I squeezed him, then drew back enough to look into his eyes. "I would have showed them to you, but... I knew you didn't like being compared with angels, or grouped with them, and I wasn't about to upset you like that. I also didn't want to provide any more clues to my feelings than I had to, and you were clever enough that I worried you'd eventually pick up on it."

Angel chuckled, running his hand along my back as we danced. "You were right. Very wise of you, actually. A hint like that might've been the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak."

I tightened my grip on his hand and shoulder. "Knowing what I know now, sweetheart, I wish I had dropped a few more hints."

He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. "Hindsight changes your perspective, love."

I gazed adoringly at him. "Love changes your perspective, Angel," I said, deliberately using his codename.

He smiled wistfully, then looked quizzical. "You have been walking in love much longer than I, Zephina. Did it change your perspective?"

I nodded thoughtfully.

"How so?"

I studied his shoulder. "At first, it was the most exhilarating feeling in the world — to know that I'd finally found the man whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I..." Suddenly I blushed. "Forgive me. That's terribly presumptuous."

"No," Angel soothed. "Let's not hold back from each other now. Please, love, go on."

I drew a fortifying breath. "Well... after the exhilaration came the most intense heartbreak I ever imagined. It truly was the highest of highs and the lowest of lows."

Angel grimaced. "I'm sorry—"

Glancing up at him, I quickly shook my head. "No, Warren," I urged. "Please don't do that to yourself. Not anymore. You already apologized, and I forgave you a long time ago. All I meant to say is that... the intense heartbreak proved that I truly loved you, especially when I couldn't let you go — no matter how much it hurt to love you. It taught me great virtues and made me a much wiser centaur. It forged me into a warrior. It hardened me into something unbreakable, and then love broke through and taught me to trust again." I sighed. "What a journey it has been," I concluded feelingly.

Angel's eyes shadowed. "I never meant to put you through so much, Violar."

I grew thoughtful again. "Love put me through all that, Warren," I answered. "Now that we made it to the other side, and we're together, I find that I wouldn't go back and change a thing. Aslan knew what he was doing all along. I think that you and I have both changed for the better."

His features relaxed, and he nodded. "I have to agree. By the way, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, anything."

"Do you prefer being called Violar or Zephina?"

The question itself made me giddy. I smiled, hardly able to contain that much emotion. "I like any name that you choose to call me, Warren."

He grinned. "Surely you have a preference."

"I always liked it when you called me V," I replied. "I was never able to tell you until now. But there is another name that was special to me a long time ago. You gave it to me."

"I did? What was it?"

I gazed into his eyes. "Love."

Tenderness surged through my Danger Sense in a rainbow of spring colors, and Angel squeezed me in the middle of our dance. "Love," he repeated. "You know, V, when I called you that... I meant it."

"I always wondered," I whispered, resting my cheek against his chest.

He leaned his head against mine. "I'm sure there are a lot of things you must be wondering about."

My voice was muffled against his deerskin vest. "There are, but at the moment, I can't remember any of them."

His laughter was infectious. I giggled with him until a new song intruded from the radio. Immediately I recognized it as one of my New York favorites, and on impulse, I looked up at Angel and softly sang the familiar words to the man I had loved for so long:

_The look of love is in your eyes,  
>A look your smile can't disguise;<br>The look of love is saying so much more_

_Than just words could ever say,  
>And what my heart has heard,<em>

_Well it takes my breath away..._

Angel's blue eyes darkened with intense passion. Suddenly he gripped my shoulders and sang with me, and our powerful voices wove into a fierce duet — a harmony of fire and beauty:

_I can hardly wait to hold you,_

_Feel my arms around you,  
>How long I have waited;<br>Waited just to love you,_

_Now that I have found you..._

_You've got the look of love,_

_It's on your face,  
>A look that time can't erase;<br>Be mine tonight,_

_Let this be just the start of_

_So many nights like this;  
>Let's take a lover's vow<em>

_And then seal it with a kiss;_

_I can hardly wait to hold you,_

_Feel my arms around you,  
>How long I have waited;<br>Waited just to love you,_

_Now that I have found you...  
>Don't ever go,<br>Don't ever go,  
>I love you so...<em>

A violent shudder made me stumble over Angel's feet. "I love you," I breathed.

Almost before the words were out of my mouth, Angel's lips were on mine — a furiously passionate kiss that sent lava racing through my blood and caused an explosion of wild colors in my Danger Sense. The colors burst like fireworks, and a black hole opened at its center, radiating such intense gravitational pull that it would've consumed the universe. Oxygen vanished. Thought followed. All that remained was Angel, burning brightly like the very sun.

And I was falling.

With a gasp, Angel broke away and crushed me against him. I hid my face against his chest, breathing hard and holding onto him for dear life — afraid of what might happen if I let go; uncertain of whether I was more afraid of Angel or myself. I'd never been consumed by a force that powerful. Angel held me just as tightly, and his hand trembled against my cheek.

"Violar..."

"Mm," was the best response I could manage. I didn't dare look at him.

Angel's arms gradually loosened. "I keep my promises," he assured me.

Relief cooled my nerves. I drew back enough to gaze at him with solemn gratitude. And I nodded.

He smiled.

We didn't say another word. We didn't have to. Angel pulled me into a gentler embrace, and we slowly danced through one song after another until the radio batteries gave out and died. And still we danced, swaying to beat of three hearts and the silent melody of love.


	19. Learning To Breathe

After we'd grown tired of dancing, Angel and I sat in the living room and talked until we couldn't keep our eyes open. Then Angel tucked a thick blanket around my centaur form, and we shared a tender goodnight kiss before I fell asleep near the fire.

I awoke to glorious afternoon sun streaming into the cave.

I yawned and stretched luxuriously as my mind slowly came to life. I wondered why I'd slept so late, then realized that I felt deeply contented for some reason. Despite the loud grumbling from my stomachs, I didn't want to get up at all.

Then I wondered why sunlight poured into the cave. The deerskin door stood halfway open, flapping lazily in the winter wind, and each blast of cold air made me shiver. I cuddled into my quilt and closed my eyes, intending to sleep a little longer...

Suddenly I exploded out of the blanket and leapt to my hooves, clattering around before my legs remembered how to work. I stumbled forward and peered into the open bedroom. No sign of Angel, though the bed had been neatly made. A folded piece of paper rested on the coverlet, and my name — _Zephina_ — was written in a masterful, flowing red script.

I touched my sapphire choker and shrank down to my human form, and I sat on the edge of the bed, smiling fit to burst.

"How in the world did you sneak past me?" I wondered aloud, picking up the paper and turning it over. To my delight, the paper had been sealed with a dab of blue candle wax. I broke the seal and began to read.

_My dearest Zephina,_

_You were sleeping so deeply this morning that I couldn't bring myself to wake you. And you sleep beautifully, love. I watched you sleep for nearly an hour, and then I had an idea that couldn't wait._

_In the meantime, will you do me the honor of preparing a large meal? And will you dress up a little? I would like to "pick you up" for our first date when I return._

_Until then, my sweet, let every breath of wind bring my kisses to you._

_All my love,_

_Warren_

I clutched the note close, overwhelmed. "Our first date," I breathed aloud.

That phrase worked better than coffee. Instantly I jumped up and dashed into the cellar. I came back with an armful of potatoes, a frozen slab of salted bacon, and a basket containing a sack of flour, a box of baking soda, a large block of butter, a jar of honey, and various other ingredients. In no time at all, I had the potatoes cubed and boiling in salted water as the bacon thawed in a pan on the stovetop. I tied an apron around my waist and prepared a quick bread dough, made primarily of butter, flour, and baking soda. I placed fist-sized balls of dough on an old baking sheet, opened the stove, and set the baking sheet right over the burning coals.

With breakfast temporarily cooking itself, I darted into the bedroom — and closed the deerskin door, just in case. I knelt before a beat-up old trunk that had seen better days. Long ago, I had dragged it out of the junkyard and stuffed it with treasures.

One of those treasures was a red velvet dress.

A section of the floor-length skirt had been torn, but I'd mended it on a rainy afternoon. Thrilled that my efforts hadn't been wasted, I put on the dress and studied my reflection in the mirror. Then I blushed: I looked happy. My silver eyes held a rare sparkle, my cheeks flushed with color, and I looked... younger, somehow. The simple style of the elegant dress drew attention to my joyful expression, and the fiery red velvet contrasted with what my friends in New York used to call a "winter complexion" — a dramatic combination of black hair, white skin, and silver-gray eyes.

I swept my hair to one side and secured it with my silver butterfly clip, adjusted my sapphire choker, and returned to the living room to finish cooking breakfast — and to decorate the table. Angel wanted our first date to be special, and I did my best to bring that dream to life: I filled a glass bowl with snow and set three blue votive candles in it for a stunning wintry look. As the candles burned, the snow would slowly melt, and eventually the candles would float amid a miniature glacial centerpiece — complete with tiny icebergs. I scattered flat blue marbles around the table, then found matching blue cloth napkins to set beneath the silverware. Lastly came the white plates and clear glasses. By the time I'd finished, the table looked fit for an ice palace.

Suddenly I did a double take and stared at Angel's chair. Then, unable to believe that I hadn't thought of it sooner and wondering why Angel hadn't complained, I marched into the bedroom and returned with a hatchet. With a few swift blows, I knocked the back off his chair and turned it into a stool — sure that his wings would appreciate the gesture.

Just as I finished cooking, my Danger Sense spiked. I smiled as a rush of feathers descended outside the cave, and I heard Angel clear his throat.

"Ahem. Knock, knock, knock," he announced with comic formality.

Laughing, I crossed the room and drew the deerskin aside. I blinked at Angel, startled. He wore an old black suit jacket (badly tailored, I realized with a stab of pity; in better times, Angel had been rather fussy about the precise look of his wardrobe) over his white tunic and baggy jeans. A red silk rose was pinned to his lapel, and he was holding a shabby bouquet of matching roses.

With a surge of delight, I lurched forward and hugged him. "Good morning, Warren. Your breath is rather frosty this morning, but I'm very partial to winter kisses."

Chuckling, he moved the roses aside and hugged me back. "I'm glad to hear that. Zephina, you look..." He shook his head as if searching for words. "Amazing."

"So do you," I assured him. "Please, come in. Breakfast is ready."

Taking him by the hand, I led him inside the cave — as if he hadn't already been living there for the past nine days. Angel sniffed appreciatively at the air.

"Mm, smells good, V. Wow, you've been decorating — and making some improvements, I see!" He glanced pointedly at the backless chair, then winked at me. I missed a step and stumbled, and he automatically pulled on my hand to steady me. "Easy, love. This cave floor has a few rough spots." I laughed at his gallantry. "Oh, I almost forgot. These are for you."

He held out the bouquet of flowers, and I had to bite my lip over a smile. The flowers weren't much to look at, but it didn't matter: Angel had gotten them for me.

"Thank you so much, Warren," I said quietly. "These are just lovely." I placed the bouquet next to my place setting. "Please sit down while I serve up breakfast."

Even though Angel and I had shared many meals together in recent days, a kind of magic infused this one. Feeling light enough to float and nearly bursting with giddiness, I heaped our plates with biscuits, bacon, and mashed potatoes. Traditionally that type of breakfast was served with scrambled eggs, but I hadn't visited Robert and Martha's farm in a long time, and my supplies were running out. I filled our glasses with water, then glanced questioningly at Angel.

He hadn't seated himself. He stood behind my chair, watching me with unnerving — and electrifying — intensity.

"What are you doing?" I asked finally, returning the empty pan to the stovetop.

Angel smiled. "Waiting for you."

I swallowed hard, then approached. Angel pulled out my chair, and I reached up to touch his face as I sat down. Colors warmed my Danger Sense, and Angel sat across from me.

"A candlelight restaurant in a cave," he remarked, grinning. "A rather unique setting for our first date, isn't it?"

I blushed. "Actually... yes, I suppose so. I don't really know what I'm doing. I've never been on a date before."

Angel looked stunned. "You haven't?"

I shook my head, suddenly shy.

He chuckled, but he stared at me in amazement. "Imagine that. I would have thought a beautiful woman like you would've had a full schedule. And I have been..." He caught himself in mid-sentence. "Though I wish now that I hadn't," he went on dryly. "With as much experience as I have with dating women, I was considered 'sophisticated' by cultural standards. In reality, I was jaded. And bored. I never really gave dates a second thought."

I gazed at him wistfully. "I turned down a lot of offers... because I was waiting for you. There was a time when I would have given almost anything for a date with you, Warren."

Angel's expression grew serious and tender. "Wish granted, love... though I'm sorry I never asked you out before now."

I softened. "You waited for the perfect moment. This is... perfect."

He pressed my hand, then picked up his glass. "Here's to the first of many, many dates to come."

"I'll drink to that," I agreed, and we clicked glasses.

Angel sipped his water, gazing at me over the cup's rim. "How many dates do you think one couple can cram into a lifetime?"

Butterflies exploded in my stomach, and my eyes widened. The implied meaning behind his words was unmistakable. "I guess we'll... find out," I hedged.

He nodded, never taking his blue eyes from mine. "I look forward to that."

Hardly able to breathe, I gripped his hand — and suddenly let go, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "We should eat," I managed, "before it gets cold."

Angel was the one who said grace, addressing his prayer to Aslan, and we set to with a will. We talked and laughed throughout the meal, and I couldn't quite shake the surreal feeling — as if I were living in a dream and none of this was really happening. Angel was handsome, his blue eyes were glowing, and he was enjoying himself immensely. When he laughed, his wings fluttered and golden pixie dust seemed to dance around the edges of my vision. The food was delicious. The water sparkled like wine. And for the first time in two years, I was free to gaze at Angel with unabashed admiration — no longer needing to hide my feelings from him, or from anyone else, or from myself.

And wonder of wonders, Angel looked at me the same way.

After breakfast, we took to the skies and flew above the clouds, where we couldn't be seen by anyone below. Angel and I kissed amid dramatic winter clouds, then broke away to talk as if we couldn't get enough of asking each other questions and remarking on life — past and present. Angel brought up the future, to my everlasting delight. And with each passing moment, I grew more sure of myself — and of Angel. My Danger Sense confirmed what was plainly written on his face and illuminated his blue eyes.

He loved me. He loved me as I loved him — as I'd never dared hope he would.

Hours later, we descended from the sky, and my hearts beat painfully as I watched Angel fold his wings and rocket toward the ground. Once we landed, I shifted into my centaur form and took him for a gallop over the white hills, churning up snow and laughing with reckless abandon. Angel wrapped his arms around my waist, occasionally flaring his wings and turning us in one direction or another for the fun of it; but mostly he gave me free rein to run in any direction I chose. I carried him far from the cave, and we reveled in the winter landscape and the golden sunrays that fell from the watery sky. We passed waterfalls that had been frozen into pillars of ice and dark trees that grew icicles from their branches, which sparkled like crystalline leaves in the winter sun. The world shimmered with dramatic enchantment, as if we traveled through abandoned halls of elven kings.

I carried us in a wide loop and brought us back to the cave by early afternoon. Immediately I had my hands full convincing him to relax by the fire while I prepared lunch for us.

"I can cook too, you know," he said as if affronted, but a grin threatened the corners of his mouth.

"I don't doubt that, sweetheart, but my stove is very small. Why don't you let me handle this? I'm sure you're tired after flying."

"No more tired than you are after galloping through the snow."

I laughed. "As if I could possibly find a gallop tiring, especially when carrying you!"

He stepped closer to me, and I forgot how to breathe. "And I find flying with you more refreshing than a full night of sleep."

I gulped, then gave my dizzy head a quick shake. That velvety tone did terrible things to my pulse. "Angel... Warren... we'll never eat lunch at this rate. Go sit down."

His sudden smile was almost blinding. "No."

A stifling sensation took hold of me with startling force, and I had to deliberately stand my ground. "I won't be long in joining you."

"That's not good enough."

I mustered all my ferocity and glared at him. "Stop arguing with me!"

He caught my hand, and I gasped. "Is that what this is? An argument?"

"I... I..." I yanked my hand out of his grasp, but it was too late. My nerves were on fire. "Yes, it is, and I don't want to argue with you. Go sit down!"

"No."

Sudden fright sparked to life inside of me. "Warren Worthington, I mean it."

He tipped his head slowly to one side, amused. "Are you afraid of letting me help you?"

"Yes!" I burst out inanely. "I... I'll never be able to cook lunch if you don't—"

"Go away?" he finished in a playful tone, his blue eyes glinting dangerously.

"Yes, and then we'll both starve."

"I won't let that happen."

Clenching my fists, I backed away from him, avoiding his gaze. "Angel, stop this. Please."

Puzzlement spiked in my Danger Sense — finally. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm deadly serious." It was all I could do to keep my voice from shaking. "Please go sit down."

He hesitated. "Not until you tell me why you're suddenly apprehensive about having me around."

"I'm not," I retorted. "I just want enough space to cook lunch, that's all."

He came forward, matching me step for step. "And I want to be close to you while you cook lunch."

My mouth went dry, and that fanned my fury into a roaring blaze. "You are being completely unreasonable!"

"You're the one being unreasonable," said Angel evenly. Confusion furrowed his brow. "I don't understand, V. Did I do something wrong?"

I glowered at him, then turned to the stove, focusing on a pan that needed cleaning. "Yes. You refuse to respect my wishes."

Angel looked as if I'd slapped him. "Zephina, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just wanted..." He shook his head, twitching his wings uneasily. "I don't understand what changed. When we were flying and galloping together, you acted as if you couldn't get close enough to me. Now..." He sighed, raking a hand through his blond hair. "Now you don't want me anywhere near you. Why's that?"

"Because..." I took the pan and turned my back, plunging it into a bucket of cold water and scrubbing furiously at it with a dishcloth. I was just as confused as he was, but I wasn't about to admit that. "I really can't explain it."

"I mean," Angel went on, "I don't want to intrude on your boundaries. But I have to _understand_ your boundaries so I don't cross the line by accident. But... I'm at a loss. One minute, you seemed to be enjoying my companionship, and the next, you're teetering between threatening me and looking like you'd prefer to bolt. It's as if my proximity made you... claustrophobic or something."

Suddenly I dropped the pot into the water. "Claustrophobic!" I repeated, whirling around with a wild grin. "Exactly!"

Angel stared warily at me, then backed away, holding both hands up. "Okay, V. If the stove is sacred territory to you, I'll just go sit down and—"

I darted forward, catching his hands. "Warren, wait. I'm so sorry. It's claustrophobia. I have claustrophobia, remember? I felt cornered, very suddenly, and I didn't know why. I'm very sorry."

Angel had stopped, but he eyed me uneasily. "Was it something I said?"

I had to stifle a hysterical laugh, but I was in earnest. "No, Warren, it wasn't. It was only me. Centaurs get a little claustrophobic in small spaces, and after being outdoors for an extended period of time, my senses needed time to adjust to being in the cave — more than I realized. I'm so sorry."

Angel remained aloof a moment more, studying me carefully. Then he relented and turned toward me. "I misread you completely, Violar. I think I have hot buttons from past relationships."

It was my turn to give him a puzzled look. "Hot buttons?"

"Yeah. Uh, wow. I'm not sure how else to explain it." He paused, considering. "Like... internal scars."

"From bad memories?"

"Right."

I puffed out my cheeks. "Alright, we need to slow down and start over. I love you, Warren."

He lifted my hand and pressed a tentative kiss to my knuckles. "I love you too, Zephina."

"Thank you," I said softly. "Now, tell me what you read into my actions a moment ago."

He looked me straight in the eye. "The discussion about who would cook lunch seemed like playful banter. At first, I thought your threats were given in the spirit of fun."

I lowered my head and laid aside my pride. "They were given to cover up a growing fright, actually."

Pain wrenched my Danger Sense. "I'm so sorry I scared you, V."

Coming forward, I hugged him tightly. "I forgive you. It wasn't your fault..."

Angel sighed deeply and hugged me back, resting his chin atop my head. "I should've been more perceptive."

"Well, I can't expect you to read my mind _all_ the time."

That drew a chuckle out of him. "Point taken."

I smiled, but I didn't let go of him — stubbornly beating back my instinctive need for space. "After you figured out that my threats were real, what happened then?"

"Uh, I... thought you were being rather... domineering."

I drew back to look at him. "Domineering? Truly?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I didn't like it."

"I'm certain you didn't," I said with a bewildered smile. "But I could never treat you like that, Warren. I have so much respect for you. Why did you immediately assume that I was being domineering?"

Angel avoided my gaze. With a shrug, he looked away.

It dawned on me then. "Thea."

He winced.

I groaned. "Oh, sweetheart..."

The agonized scowl on his face was impossible to endure, and I pulled him into another hug, rubbing his back — and stroking his feathers.

His shoulders tensed. "Guess I come with a lot of baggage."

"I'm so sorry," I said feelingly.

"You shouldn't be. It's my own fault, after all."

I pursed my lips tightly. "Don't blame yourself now, Warren. We both have issues to deal with, and they'll take some time to unravel. But I'm more than willing to be patient while those wounds heal."

I sighed, and the weight of his chin against my head increased. "Okay."

The incredible gift of his unconditional surrender made my eyes sting. I trembled, holding him close. "Everything is going to be alright, Warren," I whispered against his shoulder.

His voice came out soft and husky. "Thank you, Zephina. You make me believe it."

Not wanting to dislodge his chin from my hair, I kissed his chest. "Likewise, Warren. But let's not waste any more time, shall we?"

A smile lurked in his voice. "Okay. We have a lot of work to do."

I muffled a laugh against his tunic. "A truer word was never spoken."

He drew back with a quizzical grin. "Are you implying that I'm a mess?"

I looked up at him. "Actually, I was referring to my claustrophobia. You could hold me while I fix lunch — if you're willing, that is."

His blue eyes softened. He took a strand of my dark hair and studied it for a moment, then tucked it carefully behind my ear. "I'm absolutely willing, Zephina."

I smiled. "Alright. Just let me go long enough to gather supplies, and then you're welcome to invade my space all you like while I cook."

His laughter followed me into the cellar, where I collected a basket of apples, cinnamon, butter, and all the necessary ingredients to bake a pie. I added a little cheese and bread for grilled cheese sandwiches.

Moments later, I was trying to concentrate on not burning the sandwiches in the frying pan while Angel stood behind me, his arms around my waist. "You're incredibly distracting," I remarked dizzily, poking the sizzling sandwiches with a wooden spatula.

"Hm-hmm." Angel chuckled and kissed my neck. "You have no idea."

My vision went out of focus. "I'm going to burn your lunch," I warned, leaning into him.

He smiled against my skin. "Is that a threat?"

I breathed a disoriented laugh. "Not for long, sweetheart. It's about to become reality."

He gave a throaty chuckle and went back to kissing my neck. "A small price to pay, love."

"Mm," I agreed with a shiver. "You make having claustrophobia a wonderful experience."

He laughed, then glanced at the pan. "Sandwiches are done."

"Pity," I remarked, pulling reluctantly out of his embrace to rescue our lunch. I caught Angel reaching toward a red apple in the basket and lightly smacked his hand with the spatula. "No touch! Those are for dessert."

Angel shot me an impenitent grin. "You are a _very_ dangerous woman, Zephina. Has anyone ever told you that?"

I pondered that. "No, but I _am_ dangerous. I've defended desserts from the mightiest of mutants — the teenagers."

Warm laughter filled the cave, and we sat at the table and shared another delightful meal. It occurred to me that we'd survived our first romantic argument with ease, and joy flooded through me. I gazed at the handsome man sitting across from me, watching the way his expressive blue eyes lit up with his boyish grin; marveling at the miracle of love that bound us together. On impulse, I reached across the table and grasped his hand.

"I love you, Warren Worthington."

Angel gave me a look of pure adoration that melted me. Then he rose, came around the table, and leaned over me, bringing our faces mere inches apart until we were breathing for each other. The world around us faded away, and the only light seemed to shine in his bright blue eyes.

"I love you too, Zephina Wildfire," he answered huskily, brushing his lips over mine. I snared the nape of his neck and pulled him into a deeper kiss, caressing his wings and burying my fingers in his feathers.

By the time Angel drew away, neither of us could breathe. I touched his face, and he leaned his cheek into my hand.

"Let me make dessert," I whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the bridge of my nose. "As you wish."

I stroked his cheek, vaguely aware that I was stalling for time. I didn't want to break the spell — not yet. "Go sit by the fire, love, please. I'll make us some dessert. I won't be long, and we have so much to talk about."

That caused him to stir from the warm reverie into which we'd both fallen. "Really? Like what?"

I swallowed hard. "Thea."

The way Angel winced twisted my heart. He slowly straightened, then offered me his hand. I took it, and he drew me to my feet.

"Okay. As you said, everything will be alright."

I squeezed his hand, then moved into the kitchen. Angel arranged cushions and blankets in the living room on the other side of the stove while I prepared a pie and set it over the fire to bake. Taking my hourglass into the living room, I sat down beside Angel and pulled a thick quilt over him.

"I'm sorry that we have to do this," I said quietly.

Angel looked up at me with a brooding expression. "It isn't that I mind talking about it, Zephina. I just... don't want to talk to _you_ about Thea. She caused you more than enough pain already."

I pursed my lips, rubbing the back of his hand. "If we don't talk about her, she'll always be there between us," I replied practically. "That, to me, is worse than any pain that talking about her might cause. She wedged us apart for two years, and it's high time for us to bridge that gap and remove her influence from our lives permanently."

Angel nodded, clearly troubled. "I'm sorry, Zephina."

"I forgive you, Warren. Just remember I love you, no matter what."

He nodded, then flipped his hand over and gripped mine tightly. I laced my fingers through his, bracing myself for what was to come as the aroma of hot apple pie filtered through the cave. He looked steadily at me, drew a breath, and plunged in.


End file.
